


Book One: God Help the Outcasts

by HeadintheCloudsForever



Series: What Makes a Monster & What Makes a Man [1]
Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Menken/Schwartz/Parnell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Disney, Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 243,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26861002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadintheCloudsForever/pseuds/HeadintheCloudsForever
Summary: A Long Fic. AU. Assigned to feared Judge Claude Frollo following an atonement for stealing, Madellaine de Barreau unexpectedly meets the judge's ward, Quasimodo, the infamous bell ringer of Notre Dame, and quickly forms a forbidden attachment to the man, with one minor caveat: she is already engaged to Phoebus de Chateaupers of the King's Guard.A sort of re-telling of the first Disney Movie, with hints of the German musical here and there.
Relationships: Esméralda | Esmeralda/Claude Frollo, Phoebus de Châteaupers/Esméralda | Esmeralda, Quasimodo/Madellaine
Series: What Makes a Monster & What Makes a Man [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136483
Comments: 30
Kudos: 43





	1. Her New Master

**God Help the Outcasts Summary** : **Assigned to feared Judge Claude Frollo following an atonement for stealing, Madellaine de Barreau unexpectedly meets the judge's ward, the infamous bell ringer of Notre Dame, and quickly forms a forbidden attachment to the man, with one minor caveat: she is already engaged to Phoebus de Chateaupers. A sort of re-telling of the first Disney Movie, with hints of the German musical here and there.**

**A/N: Oh, yeah, and one more thing! Most of the characters, save for Madellaine, is based on the German rendition of the musical, 'Der Glockner von Notre Dame', with David Jakobs and Felix Martin in the roles of our beloved bell ringer and Judge Claude Frollo. I might be biased because my family is German and where we're from, but I have a huge soft spot for both actors, so they're who I imagine in the respective roles, and actually had the pleasure of seeing their performance live, and what a treat that was. It's definitely left an impact on my ND stories lol.**

**Also in this version, (or any of my other versions on here for that matter!) Quasi isn't deaf and is capable of normal speech. Jakobs has that soft, tenor-like natural quality to his voice that I think is just perfect for the lonely bell ringer, so he's who I envision when I write for him in all of my ND Stories! And easy on the eyes too, so that helps. I might* have a minor crush on the man. Sorry, but I'm not sorry! :D**

**Hope you enjoy it! This is different from my other stories on here and follows more closely to the tone of the Disney movies, given it's a re-telling of sorts. Also, disclaimer, I don't own any of the characters, except for a few original minors that make appearances.**

**Schedule wise, I hope to post for this story probably once or twice a week, going forward, though I don't have a specific posting schedule or set days.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy :D**

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**Chapter One: Her New Master**

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**JUDGE** Claude Frollo eyed the strange blonde lass who had been assigned to him as his own personal hearth keep, a decision that he did not condone, though even he could not deny this little delicate slip of a thing might prove useful, for this was an act of atonement for stealing from her previous master, a nobleman here in Paris, a Duke, albeit a lowly one in terms of rank, the Judge knew, and, not wanting to face the gallows, had accepted a lifetime of servitude as opposed to the alternative. He resisted the urge to sneer, though the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a vile smirk.

The blizzard raging war on the city of Paris removed the illusion of his eyes. With sight, the Judge knew he was not alone.

But as the white flakes whirled around him where he stood at the front steps of the Palace of Justice, he felt as alone as he would be in the bleakness of space and cold, so damned bloody cold.

_Winter's here_ , he thought bitterly, grinding his teeth in anger. He reached out with a gloved hand to guide his way, but it was swallowed by the blizzard before it had even gone a few inches. To save his eyesight from the blinding white light, he had to narrow them until they were almost shut as he steered his powerful black Friesian steed, Snowball, forward.

The beast's ears pricked up as he moved swiftly, powering limbs tearing through the blizzard, though it was obvious that it was a struggle for the stallion to do so. His knuckles bone-white beneath the warmth and safety of his gloves, as Frollo clenched them against the bone-jarring wind.

By God's good graces, why him?!

_One_ accursed wretch in his life was not enough, now he must be saddled with _two_? Was God _really_ this cruel to him as to saddle him with yet another life that he must now be responsible for? Apparently so.

He ground his teeth, wrath consuming his moralities. The Judge huffed in frustration, his breath escaping his lips as a puff of cold vapor in front of him, a hand raised to his eyes to shield his vision from the blinding whiteness. "There you are," he murmured, practically growling it through gritted teeth.

This She-Stranger, this strange material of beauty that was Madellaine Renee de Barreau of the province of Saint Paul de Vence really was a pretty little thing, even Claude had to admit it to himself and he shivered in his spot where he stood.

There was nothing friendly about the snow that currently fell from the blackened skies above. It fell thick enough to blind any traveler by foot or by horseback. The gale whipped each flake, so pretty on its own, into a projectile that hurts unguarded skin such as hers.

The little blonde lass was not much younger than his own accursed adopted wretch of a boy, currently hidden away in the bell towers of Notre Dame de Paris, for the young child's own good, for the boy's visage would only succeed in frightening her.

Dressed in a simple floor-length, ivory chemise and dark green overdress with a simple hooded brown cloak overtop that, it was a miracle of God the girl didn't freeze. His new petite hearth keep was blonde from root to tip, born to bring more golden sunshine into the wretched cesspool that was the city of Paris, the only cause for its uncleanliness was the illegal entrance of the Romani people into _his_ precious city.

It showed too. It showed in those soulful blue eyes, as bright as any glacier and yet so very warm. The young blonde woman's hair, cut short, as short as a boy's, her bangs falling in wisps and stray strands to just above her delicately shaped eyebrows, and it was not that bland color that was a shade nicer than the white of old age, but rather, it was streaked with warm reddish hues and butterscotch.

It gave his new hearth keep some warmth, complementing her pale face rather than making the girl look washed out. The twenty-one-year-old woman from the small village of Saint Paul de Vence was practically a goddess of the sun, even in winter, a siren leading everyone to sudden happiness. The beauty with the forever young ocean blue eyes that were quite lovely.

Though just the sight of the blonde's delicate features and good physique was not enough to quell the sleeplessness from his person. Judge Claude Frollo himself was sleepless, as was evident by the crumpled edges near his glistening, steely gray orbs, and the much darker shades of circles beneath them. His lean face, hard from his pale skin to the two-day stubble currently gracing his jawline, and his thick tuft of still quite luscious gray hair speckled with dappling's of white throughout, met hers with critical interest.

Judge Claude Frollo bit the inside wall of his cheek and furrowed his graying brows into a frown, knowing full well what this blonde little dove saw as she openly gawked.

The Judge and Minister of Justice was fitter looking than the girl expected. His face told of a lean body beneath his set of woolen, thick, heavy black robes, and his expression was serious, but not necessarily unkind, per se. He had a sort of salt and pepper look to his still quite luscious head of hair, against still youthful, pale skin.

The young blonde, Madellaine de Barreau, drew in a frigid breath of cold air that pained her lungs and sent her ribcages spiraling for relief as she momentarily lost herself in the Judge's eyes. Her new master. They glistened brilliantly, cold, and metallic, rivaling the most excellently polished suit of knight's armor. The sclerae that surrounded them were pristine, untouched by red. They were pure. Cold. Beautiful.

Frollo had heard many stories of this spritely little blonde, passed from one lord to the next. How she was, once upon a time, engaged to a promising young knight from her own village back home in Saint Paul de Vence, though the child was cast aside by the man when he had fallen in love with another woman of pure noble blood.

It was rumored that the wench had conspired to poison the man when she learned of his betrayal of her affections, said to have transformed into a demon and run, leaving the other woman to bear the inquest and judgment of the crime of his death.

The blonde woman standing in front of him with a look of pure rancor intermingled with asunder on her pale, petite features was rumored to be but a witch. The lass had become a girl of many stories throughout Paris if you were to believe the tales, but stories were for the gullible, simple-minded peasant folk, and the Judge considered himself beneath them all and was _not_ about to digest stupid, peasant _lies_.

Madellaine de Barreau was, even the Judge had to confess it to himself, such a sweet delectable sight. In the crisp chilly air, these damned winds of winter, he could practically feel the young blonde's warmth pulsate, which immediately soothed his ire.

Among the bleak, Gothic walls of the Palace of Justice, she looked like summer, she was a ray of sunshine. For a woman in her early twenties, the child's blue eyes were quite inquisitive, bright, glistening, her pale skin cut from the finest of pearls. Her chest was an enjoyable convex, her slender, petite figure eye-catching.

The Judge pursed his thin lips into a rigid line, not quite a frown as he found his younger self nursing a strange, foreign desire for this budding blonde French Rose. Which was, of course, impossible, considering his vows as a clergyman, and this budding rose was now rumored to be wed to his very own Captain of the Guard.

Phoebus de Chateaupers. At the thought of the handsome soldier in his mid-thirties, new to Paris just back from the front, the Judge firmly believed his new captain of the cathedral guard to be completely and utterly undeserving of this strange beauty. The Judge furrowed his graying brows into a frown and puzzled over his new little hearth keep, the daughter of deceased former warlord Lucien Barreau, as he watched her slowly be escorted nearer to the Judge, one of his men holding her arm.

There was a rather strange tinge of melancholia on her face as she approached with Lieutenant Frederic de Marten, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers's second-in-command, that vicious broken bastard, a slippery _eel_ more trouble than he was worth.

The Judge blinked and forced his attentions to return to that of the young blonde, having a feeling that he would know firsthand for himself soon enough which rumors of his new hearth keep were true and which were falsehoods of peasant lies. He did not avert his gaze nor look away from Madellaine de Barreau, and as his piercing steely gaze remained fixed on the youthful blonde, a tense exhale emanated beside him. The judge frowned and cocked his head to the side to regard the Captain.

The gilded, golden-haired self-proclaimed Sun God's head was bowed. He was in despair. Perhaps even angry of this little arrangement, which puzzled Frollo greatly.

Captain Phoebus had no reason to be unsupportive of this endeavor, as all parties mutually benefited. Claude himself had been in dire need of a new hearth keep, the last one had been unfortunately caught with the miller's son without Claude's express permission to see him, and as a result, the Judge had both parties hanged for their insolence. The captain would gain a pretty wife, and Barreau would keep her life.

Though Claude could sense, it was not enough for Phoebus, though he did not particularly know, nor did he care, about what it was that his captain wished out of his life. He sensed the man himself would never truly be happy apart from drinking himself into a stupor in the taverns after nightfall and bedding those _whores_ in the brothel. Judge Frollo's pursed lips tightened even more as he thought of those harlots.

Women of ill repute with no morals, no sense of right or wrong in this life. They were dirty, those harlots and heathen witches, set upon this earth like a plague to mankind, meant to tempt away the righteous like himself from the path of Heaven.

Their ways were filthy and wanton, whiny, without morals. The soldiers who frequented the brothels and various bordellos within Paris's limits picked the girls for their painted lips and rogue-tinted cheeks, feeling drawn to their long legs and other attributes. Frollo frowned, biting down on the wall of his cheek as he thought of them.

They made him lustful and unchaste, something he despised about himself. How did that phrase go?

The one that he quoted in his mind often as a mantra whenever their wicked ways clouded his mind with unholy thoughts? " _The beast and the ten horns you saw will hate the prostitute. They will bring her to ruin and leave her naked; they will eat her flesh and burn her with fire_." A fitting end for a demonic witch, of which all women were. The Judge was still pondering this thought as he clasped in his hands in front of his midriff, having neither the propensity nor the grace to smile at the youthful blonde.

His gray eyes, dull and somber on this frigid January morning, searched the little Barreau girl. Despite his trepidation and uncertainty at being held responsible for yet another charge in his stead, Judge Frollo heard himself intake a sharp breath of air to welcome the girl to the Palace of Justice, and he extended an arm by the wait for greeting.

"My dear child," he went on in a voice that he hoped sounded welcoming and kind enough. "Welcome. I hope that your journey here to Paris was a pleasant one. If you will follow me, your quarters have been prepared for you. I trust that while you are here with me, you will be comfortable in my… _employment_ as my new hearth keep, and you will _behave_ , dear. I don't think that I need to repeat myself, do I? Please do not make me say it a second time, my child. I really _hate_ saying things a second time."

The Judge almost flinched at how crude, rough, and coarse his voice sounded. His frown deepened as he watched Madellaine de Barreau shy away from his towering, somewhat imposing form in hesitation, the girl's cobalt blue eyes looking to anywhere else but at her new master in a sense of panicked urgency, playing with her pinkish-tipped fingers to keep them warm, as she had no gloves to guard against the cold chill.

Claude was not even aware that he'd drawn in-breath and held it, waiting with bated breath, watching as the young blonde slowly lifted her chin and regarded him.

The girl looked at him with what he could only perceive as a poisonous venom in those brilliantly cold icy-blue eyes of hers, labeling him. Though, in fairness, why wouldn't she? He was, by rights, someone that she could not fully trust just yet. Claude had the power to end her life with just one snap of his fingers. All it would take was one slip up on her end, and it would be back to the gallows with her.

This man has, by his own volition, taken away any semblance of freedom from her, and she was his now as his own personal hearth keep doing with whatever he liked.

Claude half expected that Madellaine de Barreau would grow fangs in her incisors and dig them onto his neck, by the look of dagger eyes she meant to kill him with. He frowned, feeling his slightly cracked and chapped lips part open to speaking. Though he did not get a chance as suddenly, the young blonde's face changed, as if by a spell, and she offered him a surprisingly white and dazzling, charming smile.

Gathering fistfuls of her dress in both hands, the petite blonde reached out to her skirt and hastily bent her right knee and dipped her head in acknowledgment.

She curtsied. "Master Frollo. Milord, it is truly an honor to be here, in…" she paused, craning her neck upward and swallowing as she briefly looked upon the towering structure of the Palace of Justice's bleak and imposing walls, and gulped again. "The—the Palace of Justice, and I will not fail you, milord, I can promise you that, milord, for I do not deserve your unfailing kindness nor a second chance, but you have gifted me even that, Your Grace," she continued lamely, though as she straightened her posture and did not avert her gaze from that of Frollo's. Not once.

Claude couldn't help but smile. Her simple, appreciative gesture of his act of kindness at sparing her life lifted his mood, and Claude loosened his curled fist, no longer feeling the sweat trapped beneath his palms, and he himself let out a somewhat crooked smile as he brought the girl's knuckles to his lips for a gentle, chaste kiss that sent a shiver down her spine. A gentle cough to his immediate left broke the silence between the master and his servant and he methodically swiveled his head to the left.

He stepped aside to make way for Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers. "Might I introduce to you your affianced, milady Barreau, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers."

Judge Frollo resisted the difficult and almost urge to roll his eyes as the gilded, golden-haired man stepped forward. He half expected his captain of the cathedral guard would take the youthful little spritely blonde by the face and kiss her, having noted by now his newest captain's seemingly unquenchable thirst and an insatiable appetite for women with good figures and pretty faces.

Though with this beauty, the Barreau girl was far more desirable than the lowborn whores that he rendezvoused within the brothels and bordellos, so there was no reason for him to keep his hands to himself, and yet, Phoebus made no move at all.

Intrigued, Claude slowly swiveled his head to the right and regarded his captain in silence. There was a strange revolt in Phoebus de Chateauper's face.

_Odd_. The Judge pursed his lips into a thin, rigid line and scowled. The man's face was pale, and the Judge knew it had nothing to do with the biting, stinging cold of the frigid icy blizzard currently waging its war on the entire city of Paris right now.

Phoebus's lips were agape as if devoid of speech, also a rarity for the boisterous captain of the guard, who was never at a loss for something to say, be that a poor quip or a solid piece of tactful advice regarding the art of war against the Romani people.

The darkened hazel of the man's kind brown eyes suddenly looked extinguished and suddenly drained, turning them into umber puddles that resembled that of the mud of barren earth which no words or painting could ever adequately describe, Claude thought.

Intrigued, he folded his arms against his chest. Was Captain Phoebus's taste in women truly _this_ bizarre, that he would disapprove of her likeness? Claude continued to silently ruminate over this sudden countenance in his captain of the cathedral guard, looking at Phoebus with his eyes briefly in a quandary.

For a moment, he was reminded of his previous captain of the guard, who had been taken to the dungeons of the very same building the three now stood in front of, and flayed, whipped until there was practically no skin left of the captain's old bones. Now, Phoebus was reminding Claude of that man, for his eyes were hysterical, almost. _Afraid_. He might even go so far as to call Captain de Chateaupers as _haunted_.

It took a slight nudge to the ribcage and a shove forward from the Judge to remind Captain Phoebus of his supposed act as a knight and gentleman to his intended. And Phoebus seemed to get the point, for he coughed once to clear the lump forming in his throat and straightened his posture, his blue cathedral guard cloak billowing behind him as a sudden gust of wind pinked their cheeks and kissed their hair.

Claude furrowed his graying brows into a frown as he watched Captain Phoebus move forward in two, quick swift strides, closing off the gap of space between himself and the fair-skinned, fair-haired Madellaine Renee de Barreau, who stared.

He released his left hand from the glove that protected it from the biting icy winds and outstretched his arm towards Madellaine de Barreau, and Claude could not help but notice the faintest tinge of a renewed sense of vigor and livelihood that went back into his captain's face at the smooth touch of her delicate palm against his own.

"It is an honor to meet you, milady Barreau," Captain Phoebus murmured in a low voice that was meant to be seductive, in a steady voice heard against the wind. His lips met the back of her hand, and Claude was somewhat pleased to see his new hearth keep was not at all wiled nor swayed by the golden-haired man's charms.

The Judge watched with no small semblance of amusement in his glistening steely gray eyes as the youthful blonde fought back the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust and pull back her hand, gingerly rubbing it with her other hand, and frowning. _Childish_. Claude Frollo found himself scoffing as he promptly turned away, clasping his hands in front of his midriff, and leaving the two of them to their devices.

Captain Phoebus, in the short two to three weeks of knowing his newest captain of the cathedral guard, just back from frontlines of another of France's wars, had quickly proved to Claude that he was a childish man, thinking the gilded golden-haired man's ways of so-called _redemption_ weren't all that favorable, to begin with, really.

In Claude's mind, Captain Phoebus was not deserving of such a prize as his little wife, though the decision was ultimately not up to the Minister and Judge.

The best that he could do was make sure that, despite the terms and conditions of their arrangement, that his newest hearth keep would be treated as well as possible. A notion that was truly rather _awkward_ , if he were being honest with himself, considering that this girl was little more than a petty-born thief, daughter of Lucien Barreau or otherwise.

Would this be a kind of atonement to his guilt for the murder of her father, though the dagger drove through Lucien's heart was not by his own hand? But by the hand of Phoebus himself, upon Frollo's command, given the old warlord had, two years ago, spoken out against King Louis the Prudent for the last time, and such defiance could not be allowed to go unpunished, and he had set Lucien up as an example of what happens when you _defy_ His Grace their King and his ways. Claude could not help but to wonder if the girl had only accepted Phoebus's proposal of marriage as a sort of vengeance to avenge her fallen family, what little of it was left.

The least that he supposed he could do for the only daughter of Lucien Barreau was ensure that she was comfortable before handing her off to be wed to _him_.

Claude paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his hand hovering outstretched on the handle of the Palace of Justice, though his gaze was not fixated on that of the blonde-haired young lass and the equally blond captain of the cathedral guard. No. The bells of the illustrious, gothic cathedral, Notre Dame de Paris, Paris's own Lady of Peace, rang in a peal. Normally, this would signal evening Mass.

But the hour was nearing nine o'clock and the tolling that rang through the town square was somewhat melodic as the various melodies of the changing bells of Notre Dame slowly but surely did their part in sending the city of Paris and her people to sleep, and Claude glanced up with a furtive, somewhat guilty look on his features.

His gaze flitted back to that of his brand new hearth keep, thinking that it was for the girl's own good that she stays _away_ from the upper levels of Notre Dame at all costs. Claude's mind could only conjure what _stories_ she must have heard of his ward. Only a small select few of them were true. The boy was an accursed wretch, sent to torment him, his failure at saving his younger brother, Jehan's body and soul.

The boy's parents were weak, _wicked_ , and caring for the wretch was his penance, his cross to bear, for failing to save Jehan, and the least he could do for his new hearth keep was ensure that she _never_ came into direct contact with the boy, lest she be otherwise scarred.

And that, thief or not, he could _not_ allow.

The boy, his adopted ward, the monster was beyond all hope of redemption, hence why he was kept locked away in the towers of Notre Dame, never to see the light of the sun, for the shadows was were a creature like him belonged, and the least he could do for his new hearth keep was ensure that she never came into direct contact with the boy, lest she is otherwise scarred for life the first time she laid eyes on the boy.

_No_. It was for her _own_ good. Claude could not help but wonder how much, if _anything_ , the girl had heard of his adopted ward, and if she believed some of the more outlandish tales of the demon boy.

Claude snorted, hoping that, for Barreau's sake, she did, immersing on Lieutenant Frederic's words as the younger man moved to stand beside the Judge. He could only hope that this spritely little blonde with the elfin like features did not possess an insatiable curiosity that would cause her to want to venture to the upper levels of Notre Dame, and he froze, biting the wall of his cheek.

His Majesty was keeping a closer eye on him these days, for reasons that were unknown to the Judge, though considering King Louis the Prudent was somewhat of a personal friend to Claude, he did not much too much stock or faith into the rumors of the king's current displeasure.

There was now a more problematic conflict of his upcoming visit in another two days. The girl was going to _have_ to come with him, this much he knew, for given her past a former thief, he was not entirely sure she could be left unattended, but there was no way in God's blessed earth that he could allow this girl, this _woman_ , upstairs.

There was no way around it. He was going to have to forbid this celestial-like creature from daring to set one _foot_ on the stairwell that led to the bell towers, or so help her, he would flay her alive the minute the two of them returned to the Palace of Justice. One glance at Captain Phoebus's second-in-command was more than enough as he eyed the petite little blonde lass and his captain, his face an alloy of want and restraint, a potent mix that, if not handled with the utmost care, was sure to result in disaster. Even in the blizzard, her white face was pale against the dull, her comely figure eye-catching.

The splendidness of this young beauty was undeserving of the mess Captain Phoebus had made of his life, preferring to drown himself in drink and women.

"Your bride is so lovely, Captain. A pretty little dove indeed…" Frederic spoke up, watching her with inquisitive eyes as the young blonde offered a curtsy and mumbled something about begging leave as the journey from Saint Paul de Vence to Paris, France was a tiring one, and she begged of her betrothed to allow her rest, which Phoebus granted, as he moved to stand beside Captain Phoebus, unaware that the Judge lingered in darkness by the front steps to the entrance of the desolate Palace of Justice.

Judge Frollo craned his neck to better witness his captain's morose expression, feeling no shame whatsoever in eavesdropping on the pair of soldiers in this manner. Again, there was the strange tinge of melancholia in Phoebus's voice as he spoke. It was obscure, almost unheard of, the Judge thought, for his new captain of the cathedral guard to display such a disdain, a murkiness for his new pretty little bride.

This was… _new_. New indeed. Very, very new, to see Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers speak and look this way, especially towards that of a young blonde woman.

Claude frowned, almost thinking that he would have described his new captain of the cathedral guard as glum. Perhaps even… _sad_.

He waited, watching, listening, as he heard Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers break the stony silence between the two men, unaware they were being watched in a slow, tense exhale through his flaring nostrils. The Judge watched, stepping back into the shadows, and watching as the Captain and his second-in-command passed by, finally intent on seeking shelter from the bitter cold blizzard that seemed relentless and showed no signs of stopping soon.

With any luck, this storm would spell an end to the annual peasant festival, the Feast of Fools, though he sincerely doubted it. Come hell or high water, the simple folk would have their bloody festival, and he, a public official, expected to attend it every year without fail. He scowled, listening to Captain Phoebus as the two men entered. "…Do I even deserve her, Frederic?" he asked, to which Claude only had one thought in mind.

_No, Captain_ , the Judge thought through gritted teeth. _You do not_.

Just as he was about to turn on the heel of his boot to leave and head inside as well, the bells tolled one final time, emanating their luscious sound through the square of Notre Dame as it sent the city to sleep, and the Judge cast one final, cautious and apprehensive look towards the twin bell towers of Notre Dame de Paris. One thing he knew for certain, aside from the fact that as long as Madellaine Renee Barreau remained in his employment, that she would be treated well under his tutelage, provided she behaved, was this. It was the least that he could do for her.

That this girl, his new little hearth keep, and his ward, would _never_ meet.


	2. His Permission

**A/N: Welcome back to Chapter 2! I hope you're enjoying it! :)**

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**Chapter Two: His Permission**

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**CAPTAIN** Phoebus _lied_ to her. This was not her new home. Not home, not even close. During their initial introduction to one another, the golden-haired gilded soldier, newly appointed captain of the cathedral guard of Paris's own Notre Dame de Paris had promised her that Paris was her home now and he _lied_. Oh, Phoebus _lied_!

And poor Madellaine de Barreau thought she would quite like to _strangle_ the soldier for it, that handsome soldier boy who could take his words and just _shove_ it.

Home meant warmth. Home was Saint Paul de Vence with her Papa. _Not_ _here_. Home meant peace and laughter and slices of grain cakes and tea with her sister. Home meant arguing with her sister, Maria, who screamed at her and constantly wondered why Madellaine did not bother to grow out her blonde hair.

Maria who was quite pretty but lacked social edict and proper manners, though these days, since Papa died, it was just her and Maria, and now…just her.

All of those. _Nothing_. Nothing here in this city of rats, this cesspool of a land, resembled home. Not the bricks of the walls of the Palace of Justice, varnished in soot that it was almost unrecognizable, save for the towering turrets that plunged to the skies. _Home_ was supposed to smell like incense and lamb chops and flowers, not the violent stink of vomit and disgusting men and women of Paris who were homeless.

The young blonde in her twenty-first year sniffled once and flicked away the last of her tears with a well-practiced flick of her finger, practically second nature at this point to her, wiping at the edge of her eye with the sleeve of her dress and promptly lowered her head.

There was no point in lingering on what home was anymore. Home was _gone_. She supposed that she should consider herself lucky to have escaped with her life and given a second chance to repent for the crime of attempting to steal gold coins. A lapse of poor judgment on her part, and now, _this_ was to be her penance.

Madellaine Renee de Barreau bit down on the wall of her cheek and then her tongue, keeping her head lowered as she slowly walked around the balcony terrace of the Palace of Justice that seemed to extend further than she had initially thought possible at first.

The Palace of Justice to the young blonde new hearth keep felt more to Madellaine more like a castle that arose from the battered and almost barren Earth was as of the mind of bad kings, of those who hid their hearts behind walls of stone as they plundered and killed.

Up here, as she stood out on the balcony, hands white-knuckled onto the balcony ledge to steady herself as she allowed herself to mourn the loss of her freedom, with the bitter winds of winter tousling her short blonde hair and pinking her cheeks, and only the sweet song of the birds above her to provide a modicum of comfort, one could almost be forgiven for seeing the peoples' vain-glory as benign.

Yet, Madellaine had seen for herself the slaying and the suffering that multiplies along with it, for her village in her own home had been subject to the cruelty of war.

And it took men like her intended, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers to fight battles in the name of their Lord their God, and all for _what_? Titles? Claim to land that was already rightfully theirs by nature of men's laws? Riches? Power?

To be the victors? In her mind, the war was a pitied, pointless, and violent act. Madellaine scowled, furrowing her brows, as she recollected over meeting the man she was to be wed to in a fortnight. The women called them all 'knights in shining armor,' of which, she supposed the golden-haired self-proclaimed 'Sun God' was really one because, in the night, women were meant to need 'armor' or love to shine for them.

Was _that_ how it went? Madellaine's lips pursed even into a straighter line than before as she pondered over these troubling thoughts in her mind, thinking that it did not matter. Not now. She moved along the balcony's long, winding terrace of the fortress, slow and sure, towards… _somewhere_. To where she did not exactly know.

Hopefully to a place that meant peace and quiet. In all honestly, the young blonde woman did not know exactly where it was that she was headed, nor could she summon the inclination to care anymore. She merely wanted to get away from the nauseating stares of those soldier boys that were pinning on the back of her head.

Madellaine pretended not to notice them, especially not that of her betrothed's second-in-command, a dark-haired man not much older than her, Lieutenant Frederic.

For the man, as seemingly kind and as handsome as he was, was a Stranger, and, in her mind, incredibly distasteful. Earlier, when Captain Phoebus had led her to the room that was to be her own personal quarters here in the Palace of Justice, the young blonde could practically feel the dark-haired soldier's piercing stare and burning bright green eyes burning a hole in the back of her skull as his gaze drifted down her backside.

Frederic and Phoebus both were men whose chapped lips and somewhat boisterous laughter and crude jokes, though they had nice smiles, white teeth that were shown in smiles at the mere sight of her as she slowly made her way through the Palace of Justice, though it made her insides revolt and a coil in her gut give a twist, and her mind floated back to the riots that her Papa had forced her and her sister Maria to flee.

For all she knew, her family's simple cottage in Saint Paul de Vence was lost. Madellaine cursed herself inside her head and continued to keep her jaw locked in anger and shivered, clutching at herself and pulled her cloak tighter around herself for warmth, disappearing one of the side tower stairwells and heading away from the Palace. The Judge had a long trial today that she was not expected to serve him his meals until after the Primes, and she did not think she could stomach feeling Captain Phoebus and Lieutenant Frederic's rude stares anymore, so she fled from the Palace.

In truth, she was not sure exactly where her feet were leading her, her legs seemed to be moving of their own volition and heading towards the town square.

The towering parapets and buttresses of Paris's magnificent and illustrious Lady of Peace, Notre Dame de Paris, seemed to be beckoning her forward, and the young blonde woman was hardly aware that with each step forward and each resounding clacking noise the heels of her boots made on the slick cobblestones beneath her feet, she drew closer and closer towards the source of the noise, though first, she had to navigate her way through the overly crowded streets of Paris as they prepared for the annual Feast of Fools every January, as was their custom here.

She had never considered herself claustrophobic before, but in this almighty swell of humanity, Madellaine felt the panic rise within her chest. When the townspeople around her moved, she had to also, and if her feet failed to keep up, she risked being trampled underfoot. Even in the bitter January cold, she felt the warmth of all those bodies pressing in, and it felt as though she couldn't breathe. These Parisians were gaunt and serious, there was hardly a single utterance in the hundreds-strong, save for a few frightened yelps. There was nothing for it but to move with the crowd until there was a break in the gap. Madellaine crinkled her nose in disgust.

The girl could _smell_ them too. The people, she meant an unholy agglomeration of sweat, and…other bodily fluids, over-applied perfumes from the noblewomen of the upper class. Nearby, a lost child wailed for his mother, a man frantically searched for his missing dog, vendors screamed out offers at the top of their voices to attract customers and customers desperately tried to bargain for the best possible prices for six eggs or a loaf of bread or new fabric with which to make blankets or clothing for the winter. This was the Parisian marketplace, a place which was always drowning in a sea of people, Madellaine quickly came to realize.

Not a single empty place could be spotted between the stalls. Though the sun shone mercilessly down upon the market, causing beads of sweat to glisten on everyone's forehead and many faces turned red due to the biting bitter cold of this particular dull and cloudy Tuesday morning in January. The salty odor of sweat mingled with the nose tingling aroma of spices from faraway lands, places that the young blonde new hearth keep to Judge Frollo could only dream of visiting someday, and the sweet smell of flowers coming from the florist's shop. All of those smells mixed together and gave the marketplace a rather unique scent.

And it hung in the bitter Parisian breeze from early morning to late evening. By this point in the morning, the snow had ceased descending and pure luck had made minute sunshine across the clouds. Madellaine knew she had to cherish this part of the day. When it was warm, for this was rare and only lasted about a meal's time.

Almost there, she thought wildly, biting down hard on her tongue, not realizing that she was tasting the metallic tang and copper of her own blood in nervous anticipation as she drew nearer and nearer towards the illustrious cathedral, not sure why she wanted to visit. Though, if she searched the deepest part of the recesses of her mind, she _knew_.

This morning, following breakfast, when she had cleared away Judge Frollo's plate and made to head towards the kitchens, she had heard a few of the wenches murmuring amongst themselves under their breath, talking of the Judge's adopted ward. Madellaine's ears had practically perked up at that revelation and she had ducked behind the column of a large marble pillar to listen to the girls as they chatted away amongst themselves while they scrubbed pots.

Oh, but she had _heard_ of this mysterious creature! This hunchback of Notre Dame, that monster, that demon, that half-man. Madellaine had previously not bothered to believe the stories, thinking this man to be a figment of the Parisian peoples' over-active imaginations, for how could he exist? And why? For what purpose? The fair-skinned and fair-haired young blonde furrowed her light brows in a slight frown, her mind wandering.

Just within the last three hours while she got her bearings in the Palace of Justice and familiar with her surroundings and acquainted with the staff, especially that of the lead cook, in charge of all of the other kitchen wenches, and now, Madellaine, it would seem, a woman in her fiftieth year named Jeanne.

Somethings were good, that she had heard of this elusive bell ringer, but most…were not. Most of what she'd heard of him was troubling.

The topic, even just eavesdropping as she had been earlier, made Madellaine feel incredibly uneasy and uncomfortable, so she did not partake in it. Something within the confines of her heart, that damned stubborn corded mass of muscle that pounded relentlessly against its cage, did not feel right talking so atrociously about a man whom she did not know and likely would never meet at all.

Though she could not deny that her curiosity was piqued. The deformed man seemed to be all the kitchen wenches, particularly a fair-skinned pretty brunette named Sophia, and her friend, a busty-looking redhead named Jenna, at the Palace of Justice, could talk about and were it not for Jeanne de Beaumont interrupting when she had, the gossip might have escalated. " _He's nothing but a demon sent from the depths of Hell to torment us all_!"

Sophia's dark brows furrowed into a frown at Jenna's comment, glancing up from her work. " _Aye, but the man wouldn't hurt a fly! I've heard he's quite gentle."_

_"_ _You say that now, but wait until you're the one in his crosshairs, Sophia."_

_"I think that's quite enough of that, girls_ ," Jeanne had spoken up from the entryway that led to the kitchens, an unusually stern look on her tired, weathered face, her arms folded across her chest, and one leg crossed over the other as she reached up and tucked a lock of graying hair back up into her brown, tattered headscarf where it belonged. She turned towards Madellaine, who flinched and stepped out from behind the pillar. " _Are you sick, child_?" The head cook was raking her green eyes at her. " _Might as well scour the pots if you can't walk, dearie. I will not hear of you overthrowing the Judge's precious food on the halls. I could beat you for that, dear, and I would be well within my rights to do so_. _It would surely be less than what our Judge would do to you if he found out you've wasted his meal because you're too clumsy_."

Though the head cook's voice was firm, Jeanne de Beaumont's inquisitive green eyes the color of forest moss growing on boughs of old oak trees were quite kind, and Madellaine had known that the aging woman had not meant her harsh words spat then. Jeanne had diffused the conversation to a topic much less interesting, and the other girls had taken the hint and gotten back to work. Though throughout the rest of the morning, it had left the young blonde twenty-one-year-old in a stupefied daze.

Jeanne de Beaumont had, once she had steered the topic of conversation in a more pleasant direction, had taken the young blonde aside by the arm and pulled her away to a reclusive corner of the kitchen for a word in private. " _You're Lucien's girl_."

Madellaine blinked owlishly at the aging but still quite pretty head cook, not at all what to make of the strange and somewhat unorthodox means of an introduction.

" _I…y—yes, I am_ ," she stammered, staring wide, unblinking, at the woman. She dipped her head in acknowledgment as a light pink blush speckled along her cheeks. " _Forgive me, madame, but I_ —" But Madellaine did not have a chance to finish, for Jeanne de Beaumont threw back her head and offered up a dark light chuckle.

" _Jeanne, dear, Jeanne. No madam am I! All of us women here are equals, at least in my kitchens_ ," she scoffed, a strange look causing her light green eyes to darken. Her hardened exterior softened slightly as she lowered her head and looked down her slender nose to regard the petite little blonde, who was having trouble meeting her gaze. _She must be shy_ , Jeanne thought, pursing her lips into a thin and straight line. The head cook folded her arms across her chest and continued. " _Yes, dearie, I knew your father. The man was a friend to me once, in another life. Your father was there for me at a time when no one else was. Gave me food, shelter, when I was otherwise homeless. Your father had the way of seeing the beauty in others, and perhaps especially, when that person could not see it for themselves. Your father had a gift, child. Dear old Lucien was the one who got me this job, come to think of it. He put in a good word to our Judge's father, Geoffroi, and I've served the Frollo's ever since I was thirty, dear, and I will probably continue to serve this family until I take my dying breath_ ," Jeanne sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, her graying brows furrowed as she recollected this strange little creature had not like she had expected her to, partake in the gossip of the church's bell ringer.

" _O—oh._ " Madellaine stammered, not quite at all sure what to say in this regard. She had thought that her father had preferred to keep to himself. He had never spoken to her or Maria of his past. Not acquaintances, friends, past lovers until he met Mama. Though she was starting to believe that this was very clearly not the case, for as she lifted her chin slowly to look into the head cook's green eyes, there was a slight tinge of melancholia before as Jeanne de Beaumont lingered on thoughts of Lucien Barreau that had not been there a moment ago when she was chastising Jenna and Sophia.

All the differentiating thoughts of this mysterious and elusive bell ringer in question swirled around in her tired head, so much so that she'd almost forgotten to bring the Judge his food and was only reminded of the fact when Jeanne's voice prompted her out of her musings towards Paris's own demon sent to plague the people.

" _I just want you to know, my dear, that I was sorry to hear of Lucien's passing_. _Paris remembers. Your father was a kind man, with a good, good heart. He will be missed_ ," Jeanne de Beaumont added, her pretty but lined features darkening.

Madellaine flinched in response, though she hoped her face remained impassive and unreadable, though she felt certain that her cobalt blue eyes betrayed her sadness. " _Thank you_ ," she murmured, lowering her head and blinking back tears. She swallowed down hard trying to forget. Prior to moving his family to Saint Paul de Vence when her father became too old to fight in the King's battles anymore, the small family had lived in Paris, for a time, though Madellaine had been too young to remember most of it, though parts of it were still familiar. Like the old marketplace.

And the cathedral, though she and Maria had never once set foot through her doors. If she was being completely honest with herself, Madellaine was not so sure that she held a strong belief in God anymore, for what loving God would allow her precious Papa, a man who never failed to see the good in anyone, be allowed to be so brutally killed? By her own intended!

Madellaine had been there when Captain Phoebus had driven his own sword through her father's back, and his throat had been cut and he lay like a butchered animal in a waste of his own blood and other bodily fluids. Her father had lain on the floor of their simple cottage, in the kitchen, staring up at Madellaine, the mouth open, head practically cleft from his body. She had seen his severed vessels. She had begged France's new captain not to, and Phoebus had not listened, stating that he was a good soldier, and he was 'merely following orders.'

And she had screamed. God, she had screamed, but no amount of begging to God was going to bring her father back alive and unharmed. It had taken her a total of five minutes that day for her to dispel her belief in a God that was so cruel to her.

Jeanne offered her what the young blonde supposed was meant to be a sympathetic smile, though, in her state of uncertain confusion, it looked more like a pained and twisted grimace as she folded her arms and regarded the young blonde.

" _I am here to talk to you if there is anything you need. With all my girls, the first few weeks here in the Palace of Justice are the hardest, but if there is anything I can do to help you adjust, given your…unique circumstances of how you came to be here, child, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'm here for you_."

" _O—oh_ ," stammered Madellaine, unable to form a coherent reply. All she could do was stare and blink owlishly at Jeanne, touched and quite frankly, in awe of the beautiful aging cook's kindness. She had not expected anyone in the Palace of Justice to be so kind to her, given what she had come for. She, a former thief, now under the employment of the very man who had the power to send her straight back to the gallows and awaiting her death sentence if she were to ever get on the Judge's bad side.

Madellaine had fully been expecting the Judge's staff to turn her away, or for everyone, she had met in this world to be rude, impolite, and generally unkind to someone such as her. However, in her current state of unease and vulnerability, kindness coming from someone like Jeanne felt like a stab in the heart with a rusty dagger, twisted so far in her chest she couldn't pull it out. She could feel her eyes beginning to tear up.

" _Thank you, Jeanne_ ," she croaked hoarsely. "F _or your kind words and your concern, but I am certain I will be just fine_. _I—I am used to serving men like Master Frollo, madame, I—I mean…Jeanne_ ," she replied, and she recognized her voice sounded cold. Madellaine flinched, though she spoke no apology.

" _Of course, child_ ," Jeanne replied kindly, not blaming Madellaine in the least for not knowing how to react to her situation or giving a cold response. "I _need to return to the kitchens now to finish preparing the rest of the supper for our Judge when he returns from the festival. He's apt to be in a mood, like always, so I've been working hard to prepare a few of his favorites all morning. Let me know how it goes in there,_ " she added, jerking her thumb towards the Judge's study, a coy grin forming.

Madellaine clenched her jaw tightly shut as she felt hot tears welling and stinging at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. Her throat felt hollowed as it constricted and each word pitched higher than the last in an effort to squeak out the words that bottled up inside her, though as she swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat, by some miracle of God, if He even existed for the young woman anymore, she managed to find her voice, though it was much quieter and more subdued this time.

" _Add more wine, please, Jeanne_ ," Madellaine begged, biting her bottom lip. " _Judge Frollo needs more than your unnecessary comments of his adopted charge_."

The pretty cook scoffed and rolled her eyes, leaving her alone to fetch the tin flagon of wine on her own. Madellaine did so, albeit not without a slight scowl on her face.

_I'll have to watch that one_ , the young blonde woman thought, biting her tongue. As she walked down the dimly lit corridor of the main floor of the Palace of Justice towards her new master's study, carrying the metal tray bearing the tin flagon of wine, a small rind of Brie cheese, and a half loaf of a baguette, she wondered of _him_.

Was this man, this hunchback, _really_ a monster like the kitchen wenches said? Madellaine could not help but wonder just how well this man played the sweet song of temptation, how well he cast darkness into the minds and hearts of the Parisian folk. Made it so pretty that it looked just like moonlight. Who exactly _was_ he? Why, in the few short days of being under the Judge's employment, if this boy was his charge, had she not seen him yet? She paused to twist a stray wisp of blonde hair in her finger as her mind pondered over these odd and conflicting thoughts of Notre Dame's 'monster.' They claimed that the hellish man who lived high above the City of Lovers in his precious bell towers, isolated with Notre Dame herself, was reviled, deformed, and was nothing but a demon sent to plague the citizens of Paris for all their wrongdoings.

They say that he was once a person before. The villagers would tell anyone who would listen over a pint of ale and a hot meal how Notre Dame's own demon was a wretched creature with scars and bruises all over his malformed accursed wretch of a body that looked like God had decided to abandon him before he was even fully all the way made. How red, trickling crimson blood of his victims ran down his sides.

It was rumored that the wretch only dared to come out after nightfall, for that was when he felt the safest, you see. Free from the tormenting of the people, free to wander about aimlessly. How his eyes were better than any hawk's or falcon's, his teeth sharper than knives, how the creature had a tendency to move in the shadows until his victim was in his reach, and then the monster's massive strong arms would shoot out from behind wherever he lurked and pull you into his grasp, where he then would dart off with you into that black night, and the poor unfortunate soul whom he had kidnapped was never seen or heard of again.

For the most part, the simple-minded peasants claimed you didn't even have time to call out and all one could hear from the inside of the sanctity of their own homes was the crunching of bones as this monster of the cathedral, this demon who had been hidden under the villagers' midst for the last twenty-one years would feast upon their flesh, satisfied at last. How this monster was so violent, he would snap your neck if you so much as _looked_ at him the wrong way

Truly, the perfect picture of misery reflected both on the outside and the inside as well. Beauty to the young blonde thief, however, was never that skin deep.

_If_ she could even call it that. The villagers said time heals. But the people also said that the monstrous bell ringer never healed. This bell ringer never healed or became better, as a matter of fact. The rumors that swirled through the marketplace about this redheaded monstrous young devil that lives in the bell towers swirled around in traveler's tired heads until it was just a jumble of thoughts, much as it was right now for Madellaine.

Most that passed through Paris's city gates didn't know what to believe, which rumors were true, and which ones were falsehoods She stood in silence as her mind entertained these unusual questions, before she startled with a jolt when she heard low murmurings as she approached the closed door to Judge Frollo's study. Madellaine instinctively felt her body stiffen and recoil as she heard the droll baritone of the man's listless voice coupled with that of the Sun God's. She ground her teeth and listened.

"Your service record precedes, you, Phoebus," her new master was saying in a dull and listless somber. "I expect nothing but the best from a war hero of your caliber." Phoebus's calm, a stoic voice spoke up next, and Madellaine through the other side of the closed-door could almost picture the gilded golden-haired soldier standing rigidly at attention, hands clasped behind his back as he answered the Judge's request.

"And you shall have it, sir. I guarantee it, Your Grace. A tremendous honor, sir. Truly." The young blonde bit down on her tongue, knuckles white-boned and raised in mid-knock, before she quickly shook her head to clear it and forwent the courtesy of announcing her presence, twisting the knob of the door with a light, shaking hand.

The door creaked open and there the Captain of the Guard stood next to her new master, who was as silent as the shadow that Madellaine believed Frollo to be.

"Milord," she whispered in a hoarse voice. She was barely recognized as the Judge's head swiveled slowly, almost methodically to the side, parting his head from his knuckles. "Y—your wine, sire, as you requested. And I've brought you food, sir."

She saw the Judge stretch his long legs and rest both of his arms on the side of a chair with an exhale of breath through his nose that would have made a sloth proud.

But he did not look at his hearth keep, and Madellaine's interest was piqued.

The young blonde slowly inhaled the scent of brick, wood, and spiced wine, noticing the untouched slice of grain cake that lay disregarded from breakfast earlier.

Madellaine took all of Judge Claude Frollo in, who was unstirred at the interruption. Phoebus glanced back once over his shoulder at the interruption and offered her a kind smile that made her insides recoil, and she fought the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust at the pigheaded, boorish, brainless oaf of a soldier in front of her. The murderer of her kin.

It was Maria, her older and only sister, who had told her this was the best way to sink vengeance for the death of their father, though the first night she had told Madellaine of the pact, she had wept quietly. For their Papa. For the family that would never again be made whole, simply because of this man in front of her. Phoebus de Chateaupers. Her father's murderer, Sun God, handsome or not. It changed _nothing_.

The thought plastered a quiet vibration underneath her skin.

Was she ready for this? They said that it was pleasurable, the act of loving another. So pleasurable in fact, that the seedier types of men tended to hand over their gold and silver, farthings and shillings alike, to the women who sold their bodies at the brothels here in Paris, just to touch the lumps of flesh on a woman's body, and the pit between her thighs. Madellaine frowned, feeling what little color was left in her face drained.

No. No, she was most certainly **NOT** ready for this. She could not do this. _Would_ not. She could not marry Phoebus, no matter _what_ she had to do. People back in Saint Paul de Vence had said that Madellaine was a smart girl, growing up. That with just her looks alone could stop an entire invading army in their tracks.

She did not believe those _lies_. For if she were beautiful and smart, then she would not have been cast aside following her Papa's death, with Maria and Madellaine sent in opposite directions, with Maria choosing to go work for a German family. And here she was, passed from one lord to the next, and now, this judge…

Mother had used to tell her and Maria that a woman's duty was to her family. And Madellaine could not shake the feeling of dread that crept down her spine, like a spider leaving a soft trail of silk, that, by agreeing to marry _him_ , she was betraying hers. Though she had virtually no time to ponder these troubling thoughts as her new master spoke, shattering the uneasy silence and the thick tension that hung in the air.

The Judge's back was facing her, his façade towards the window as he looked out. "Just _look_ at them down there!" he spat, sounding utterly disgusted. "Like _horrible_ _vermin_! Were it entirely up to me, the gypsies would be hunted down for sport, kept in cages like the _dogs_ I know them to be. You have come to Paris in her darkest hour."

Madellaine blinked owlishly at the shift in the Judge's countenance. He was lax and grim together, with his head resting on the knuckles of his folded arm as he sat in his leather armchair, his elbow on the side rest of his chair, brows furrowed in thought.

To the young blonde hearth keep, it looked as though Claude Frollo were carved on that post, inanimate and sullen for the longest time, and she could sense that no amount of food nor the finest wine that France offered him would set his mood.

Long enough, the hearth keep surmised, for the various parchments on the table to have blown about the man's chambers in a state of severe disarray, all the cause of the wind which was breathing through the same window he was currently looking out of, long enough to have the candle in its prong be lifeless. Madellaine de Barreau furrowed her light blonde brows into a sullen frown as she took a cautious, half-step forward and set down the tray that she had brought bearing a bowl of soup and a half-loaf of bread from the kitchens.

Her eye caught sight of a piece of parchment, its wax seal already broken, near the edge of her boot and she would have stepped on it had the paper not rustled due to the breeze, making a noise, which caught her attention. Her scowl deepening, Madellaine slowly knelt to the floor and picked it up.

As much as she itched to read what the scribblings before her blue eyes meant, she couldn't. The likes of her had never been taught to read by a maester or her sister.

She was not exactly as well-educated and versed in prose and literature.

The Judge did not once look at Madellaine, not even when she moved to set down the tin flagon of wine in front of him and poor the Judge a chalice of red wine.

"It will take a firm hand to set the weak-minded souls from being so easily misled," Claude Frollo growled, at last taking hold of the chalice, lifting the cup to his lips and drinking. The young blonde swore she saw him give a curt nod in thanks, though she lacked the strength to return the gesture, and cringed, keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her, though not before remembering protocol and curtseying.

She heard Phoebus intake a sharp breath, and the young blonde hearth keep could practically feel the confusion emanating off of the golden-haired man in waves.

"Misled, sir? I—I am afraid that I do not understand, Your Honor. Misled…how?" Phoebus questioned, furrowing his brows, stepping forward slightly.

"Just take a look, Captain," Claude drawled, gesturing the hand not clutched onto the wine goblet near his lips towards the open window. Intrigued, Madellaine too crept forward, not sure if she was even allowed to look, but her curiosity was piqued.

Dancers crowded the streets of Paris, one Romani woman in particular that, it did not escape Madellaine's attentions, had caught her Captain of the Guard's sharp eye. Most did not pay attention to the beautiful dancer's beauty, but rather, her color. Burnt Sienna had never looked more bewitching on a woman.

With ebony black hair that cascaded in natural, luscious curls to past her shoulders, and her head held high, she danced and twirled to the rhythm of a tambourine, a white and gray Nubian goat at her heels, tapping its hooves along to the beat of the live music coming from the corner.

Her eyes scanned the crowd with determination in search of something—or _someone_ —and as the tanned-skin Romani woman lifted her chin, Madellaine could have sworn, she was sure, yes, she was _sure_ , that those sharp emerald orbs met hers.

And she… _smiled_. So beautiful it was like the stars themselves decided to rest behind the soft cushion of her lips. Madellaine blinked owlishly in shock, though when she blinked again for the third time, the woman's attention was finally drawn elsewhere.

Emanating a tense exhale of relief, the young blonde could practically feel Phoebus's hard, burning stare practically burning a hole at the back of her skull as she turned away and let out a squeak, unable to stop it escaping the confines of her lips.

She ducked her head so that her master and affianced wouldn't see the light pink blush currently speckling its way along her pale cheeks at an alarmingly rapid, fiery pace. Madellaine swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat as the Judge continued speaking to his new Captain of the Guard, ignoring his hearth keep.

"Their heathen ways inflame the people's lowest instincts, and they must be _stopped_ ," Judge Frollo growled in a low, threatening warning grumble that came from deep within the confines of his slender chest beneath his set of billowing black robes.

When Captain Phoebus finally found his voice, there was no mistaking the note of confusion and slight disbelief in his voice. And, if Madellaine wasn't mistaken, anger. "I was summoned from the _wars_ to capture fortune readers and palm readers?"

"Mmm." Madellaine's master made a non-committal noise that sounded like a grunt from the back of his throat as he held the rim of his wine chalice to his lips. "The _real_ war of Paris is what you see before you, Captain Phoebus. My child," he added darkly, almost as an afterthought, his sharp, inquisitive gaze flitting towards Madellaine. When neither Phoebus nor Madellaine offered up a verbal response, Frollo took that as his cue to continue. "For twenty years, I have been taking _care_ of these gypsies, and yet, for all my successes, they have _thrived_. I would see us _do_ something, Captain. This cannot be allowed to continue on as it has been doing."

"What would you have us do about it, sir?" Phoebus questioned cautiously.

The Judge, while not offering up a verbal answer in response to his captain's query, made his point by furrowing his brows as he noticed an ant scurrying on his desk. He made his point by slamming the chalice of wine down on the tiny insect.

Madellaine flinched as the cup made a loud clanging noise against the wood of his pristine mahogany desk. Captain de Chateaupers, for his part, showed no reaction.

_Every bit a soldier boy_ , Madellaine thought darkly, glowering at Captain Phoebus. _So good at following orders, winning wars, but not thinking of the consequences_. She bit the inside wall of her cheek to tamp down her rising temper.

"You make your point quite vividly, Your Honor," Phoebus murmured, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, never once averting his gaze from the Judge.

The Judge merely nodded in response as he rose from his chair, heaving a heavy sigh and pinching at the bridge of his temples as the roar of the crowd below grew even louder. "Ugh," he groaned, sounding thoroughly exasperated and disgusted. "Duty calls. Has either one of you ever attended a peasant festival, Captain? _You_ , Barreau?"

When both Captain Phoebus and Madellaine shook their heads mutely, the edges of the Judge's lips curled upwards in a twisted sneer that sent a shudder of revulsion down the young blonde's spine. "Then, this shall be quite the education for you both. Captain if you will assemble your team of men and begin to patrol the perimeters, I would greatly appreciate it. And as for _you_ , child…" The Judge paused.

Judge Frollo turned towards his newest hearth keep and clasped his hands together in front of his middle. Madellaine's drifted downward towards the several jeweled rings the man wore on his fingers. Emerald, ruby, and sapphires all alike. "I should like for you to accompany me to the festival today, dear. I am an aging man and there is every strong possibility that I might require some assistance later."

Madellaine felt an incredible fiery heat spread to her cheeks and she lowered her head in response. "Yes, milord," she mumbled softly under her breath. "I—I will."

"Good." He offered a curt nod in response and with a curt wave of his arm, motioned for the Captain of the Guard and Madellaine to follow him, though he scrunched his nose in disgust at the simple attire that his new hearth keep wore. "You will, of course, young mademoiselle, change your clothes _immediately_. When you are out in public with me, I expect you to maintain a proper appearance and a sense of decorum and you must wear clothing that I deem _appropriate_ for a servant of your position."

Upon seeing Madellaine's lips part open slightly to protest as she glanced down at her simple brown dress and clogs, he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I believe the lady Jeanne de Beaumont will have spare clothing that you may borrow if you ask her. Be quick and make haste about it, girl, or I would be forced to beat you. I am afraid that I must make a stop to the cathedral along our way, my dear, but I won't be long."

Madellaine mutely nodded her head as her mind struggled to process all of the information, wondering just what in the seven hells she had allowed Maria to get her into now by agreeing to come her to Paris, to be wed to this golden-haired monster standing aside her with a look of asunder intermingled with pure shock on his face.

The Judge pursed his thin lips into a scowl and gave the blonde a wave of his arm, signaling that their limited conversation had already reached its conclusion.

Taking that as her cue to leave, Madellaine dipped her head and sank into a brief but low curtsy in front of the distinguished Judge, before righting her posture and daring to turn her back on the Judge, turning on the heel of her boot to locate Jeanne.

As the clacking noise of the footfalls of both the Judge's and the Captain's steps grew fainter as Madellaine rounded the corner and headed in the complete opposite direction, the young blonde could not stop the new feeling of hope rising in her chest.

It was strange and quite unfamiliar to her, but the warmth that it sent spiraling through her chest as Madellaine was jolted back to the present reality of her situation by the harsh, grating tone of the Judge's barking, droll baritone as he bade her keep up, forced her mind to return to the current situation at hand: she was going to the Feast of Fools, though not before the Judge stopped at Paris's own Lady of Peace first.

Her mind had been so fixated on thoughts of the cathedral's mysterious bell ringer that she had not even noticed that they had arrived, and she'd not watched where she was going, in her haste to catch up to her master, had almost succeeded in barreling over the poor man, and would have fallen onto the top step herself, as she could feel her body beginning to lean and pitch forward, were it not for the Judge.

He shot out an arm to catch her by her forearm and righted his hearth keep, steadying her by setting both hands firmly on her shoulders. His teeth were clenched in annoyance, though upon seeing just how terrified the poor blonde was, something within him seemed to shift and his hardened expression softened, as did the steel in his eyes.

"You must take better care, mademoiselle, to pay better attention to your surroundings, dear, for I am a forgiving man, but not everyone is as forgiving as I."

There was a hint of steel in the man's voice that told Madellaine she must listen, and she merely offered a nod, unable to think of an apt verbal response to his words.

"Wow." It felt like Madellaine's brain had gone on pause while the rest of her thoughts struggled to catch up as she had to practically crane her neck to take in the beauty of the cathedral before her. "I—it's beautiful, Your Grace. I have never seen anything as beautiful as her, Milord Frollo." It was the only word she could manage to describe the wondrous awe and gentle beauty of the illustrious Gothic infrastructure.

Gnarled trees hung low over the edges of the cathedral's town square, of which the magnificent church itself was at the heart of. The heavy oak doors broke open as the Judge, with some small amount of effort, pulled open the doors and winced as it echoed around the empty church.

On the outside of the cathedral, above were the gargoyles, embodiments of evil. On their lofty perches, these stone caricatures were exposed to the worst of the Parisian weather and elements as the years passed and showed signs of the relentless seasonal freeze-thaw. It was hard for Madellaine now not to find them amusing. Oh, she supposed any other young woman her age would have pulled a face and stuck her tongue out at them, coming from a place of fear.

But when Madellaine had looked up at them as the Judge had helped her ascend the stone steps of Notre Dame's entrance, they simply reminded the inventor's daughter to guard against the blacker, darker parts of her nature, that even she was not immune to that demonic voice that whispered thoughts of malice and wickedness to her whenever she thought of Paris's newest captain.

At the thought of her soon-to-be-husband, Madellaine crinkled her nose in disgust and turned her head away sharply, as thoughts and visions of Phoebus de Chateaupers suffering a horrible fate for what he had done, what he had taken from her and Maria by _murdering_ their father, danced in the front of her mind, and she sincerely hoped that her Papa would approve of this.

That, somehow, at least in Maria's mind, marrying the very man who had slain their father, was a fitting way to enact vengeance on their fallen family members.

Madellaine, however, was not entirely sure that she believed that, and frowned, glancing upward at the cathedral, as buttresses and the bell towers plunged upwards, all of the various structured parts of the magnificent church competing to reach Heaven first, and the light shown through the several stained-glass windows, casting their reflective images of dancing light onto the opposing walls and the black and white checkered tile floor beneath their boots. Candles in their pronged holders lined the walls, and Madellaine was sure, yes, she was _sure_ that she saw the Archdeacon nearby.

The Judge cast a curious, sideways glance at Madellaine, and she blinked, startled out of her inner musings as a dark little chuckle escaped his lips as he brushed off a speckling of snow off his shoulder as he surveyed the petite little blonde in her new dark blue velvet gown with long flared trumpet sleeves meant to keep her warm.

Her short blonde hair had been recently trimmed by Jeanne, as was evident by dozens of little hairs still clinging to the bridge of her nose and her cheek, and the Judge did not bother to stifle his kind smile as the girl's nose tickled and she sneezed.

"Barreau." The Judge's tone was kind, though with a hint of firmness in his baritone voice, causing Madellaine to glance up at her new master in surprise as she sniffed. "You will _wait_ for me here in the main level of the sanctuary," he instructed, and once again, a muscle in his jaw twitched and the edges of his deep voice hardened.

Madellaine nodded her head in silent agreement, lowering her head and twisting her fingers together, playing with her pinkish-tipped fingers to keep them warm. The Judge, however, was not finished instructing his ward, and he continued.

"She is Paris's finest work, and something tells me given how you cannot seem to tear your gaze away from her inner beauty, that you would find a way to sneak off and explore," he added, narrowing his eyes at the young blonde's deepening blush.

Though, when Madellaine slowly lifted her head, he did not seem angered, but rather, amused. She blinked owlishly at the taller, refined but still quite a handsome man. _Strange_. But then again, and this was a fact that she would never admit aloud…

_He_ was strange. Though she had no time to dwell on this fact as he continued.

"You will stay on the ground floor and _away_ from those staircases," the Judge barked harshly, extending a long arm and pointing towards the very stairwell that he was heading towards, having to lift the hem of his black robes to avoid tripping on it.

A nod from Madellaine, though the Judge did not quite seem convinced, and furrowed his graying brows into a frown, the edges of his thin lips curling downward.

"You are **NOT** to go above this sanctuary and you are especially not to go up there," he growled, turning his back and leaving his young hearth keep to watch in silence as the man himself slowly ascended the very stairwell that she was forbidden to climb, leaving the young blonde alone to ponder her thoughts, and she thought of him.

Of the bell ringer of Notre Dame. If he really lived here, and the young blonde woman was suddenly hit with an insatiable desire to follow in her master's footsteps.

Though she remained rooted to her spot, at least until a new voice shattered the silence behind her, and interrupted her musings of this mysterious creature, that man.

"Barreau. What are you doing here?" A man asked her, sounding gruff and coarse, which elicited a startled scream from Madellaine Renee de Barreau, who had not anticipated that anyone would ask after her presence here in the cathedral, as she whirled around and swallowed nervously, finding herself face-to-face with Frederic.

The young blonde could tell by the way the man lifted his chin and the way his green eyes looked like a wildfire burning, ready to scorch and ignite anything in its path, that he was angry with her, though, for what, Madellaine hadn't the faintest idea.

What she did know, was that judging by the animosity burning bright in the man's eyes, that she was somehow the cause of his problems, whatever ailed him.

And she was in for a spot of trouble. Very. Deep. Trouble.


	3. High Above the Bell Tower

**A/N: I hope all of you are enjoying the story so far! Disney's HoND is one of my favorite movies, and the original novel too, in all its darkness, it's a wonderful story.**

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**Chapter Three: High Above the Bell Tower**

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**THE** morning January air was chilled as the bitter Paris breeze slowly wafted through the drafty north bell tower loft of Notre Dame de Paris. The stock of the trees that lined the edge of the small village that the massive cathedral overlooked, as her silent protector, swayed slightly in the bitter winter breeze on this cold January morning in Paris, seeped with sap liked the beads of sweat that the sun saw fit to suck from underneath the only figure who was currently looking out at the City of Lovers with a look that one could only be described as a look of discontent and a look of longing on his slightly misshapen face.

The feared and slightly disfigured sole bell ringer of Notre Dame sat on the balcony terrace, his arms resting against the balcony's railings, head craned down to look at the people, which to him were so incredibly small, up here at the top of the world, they looked like ants.

It was impossible to tell how long he had been standing out here. An hour or two, maybe more. He'd been awake since the early hours of the dawn, having to get up every morning without fail to ring for Lauds, early morning Masses.

The poor boy heaved a heavy sigh and rested his cheek in his right gloved fist, his elbow propped up against the cold stone railing of the balcony's ledge.

The Feast of Fools was today, and while the forlorn young man at age twenty-one was mostly content with his simplistic life here in the north and south bell towers of Notre Dame, his only home, he felt like…like something was _missing_ , though he was not quite sure what that was.

For the last twenty-one-years of his entire life trapped up here at the top of the world, the boy, who had been saddled with the unfortunate name of 'Quasimodo,' a cruel name that meant half-formed, or 'almost-made,' this balcony was the closest that the isolated young man could come to the outside world, his only connection to the city. And for good reason, for if one were to look upon the accursed wretch, they would be forced to turn away and would likely lose the food they had broken their fast with.

At least, that's what Master Frollo _told_ him, though perhaps the only other caretaker in the church, a young nun in her fortieth year by the name of Sister Alice, told him such words spouting from the Judge's mouth were slanderous, vicious lies of him. Though, whenever the boy looked into a mirror, it was plain to see why he was confined up here, trapped up here at the top of the world with no prayer of ever leaving.

The poor young man had been cursed at birth with a few misshapen features, the most prominent of which was a back that was slightly hunched, a small hump near the man's right shoulder. Though it did not impede the cathedral's bell ringer from standing up straight to his full height of around 5'9 or walking. Though Quasimodo walked with an odd gait, wonky at times and a bit lumbering, and at times he had to be quite careful.

For his left eye suffered from an unfortunate, slightly swollen contusion just above his left browbone that gave the rest of his features a kind of lopsided, misshapen look, as well as impeded his vision, which although not dire and did not cause loss of vision in that eye, sometimes his limited line of sight caused him spells of dizziness.

Notre Dame's bell ringer was, however, quite strong after over ten plus years of ringing the proud, massive iron and brass bells, his beauties, his children, every one of them, of Notre Dame de Paris, and often chose to downplay his surreal strength and slightly chiseled build by hiding underneath thick, long-sleeved linen undershirts and overtop that, a green or brown woolen tunic, the thick material meant to keep him warm, especially up here during the colder months, often worn and tattered that came with much usage but still bore signs of being well cared for, as Master was the one to present him with clothes, though annually, on his birthday every year, Alice would give him a new tunic or shirt that he would cherish. This year, she had promised him a black one.

On his strong hands, he wore thick brown leather gloves with the fingers cut off, brown hose, and brown leather boots with several dozen scuff markings, though if he were feeling in a particularly good mood, or if he were bored with nothing else to do, he polished them. Sometimes. Quasi was twenty-one years of age, would be twenty-two in November of this year, or was it December? He furrowed his brows in a slight frown.

He didn't know. He couldn't remember. Master Frollo had told him more than once that he was left abandoned on the front steps of Notre Dame around Christmas Eve.

Quasi squeezed his eyes shut as a cold gust wafted his way, clenching his jaw shut as he glanced downward, surprised to see his reflection staring back at him from the edge of his brown leather boot, where he had almost stepped on a broken shard of glass.

He cringed as he knelt to pick up the small shard, scowling at the shadow of would have been quite a handsome face, were it not for the contusion above his left brow bone, stared back at him. The wind ruffled his wavy ginger hair gently, though one stubborn coarse lock of fiery red hair often hung lank and limp in his one good eye that still possessed the gift of good sight. "Another day has come and gone, with nothing to show for it," Quasi mumbled darkly, resting his hands on the balcony's railing as he gave a tap with his gloved knuckles upon the tallest of three stone statues perched atop the rail.

Victor, Hugo, and Laverne were not yet awake, and a part of Notre Dame's bell ringer felt guilty for disturbing the three, though as of lately, he was beginning to enjoy their company less and less, which he felt bad about it, but… Quasi had awoken from yet another nightmare, these too were growing in frequency and plaguing what little sleep he _did_ receive. On a _good_ night, he was lucky to awaken to ring for Lauds with a solid four to five hours of sleep.

Though it wasn't nearly enough, and to combat his sleeplessness, he would often sit at his wooden carving table in his loft for hours, carving. He was plagued in his fits of feverish nightmares, of saving a young woman from a horrible fire, though he could never quite see her face, for her back was always to him.

On her pyre. Though he could hear her terrified screams ringing in his eardrums, could smell a wisp of her blonde hair beginning to burn. Always too late to save the girl. He stifled a groan when he finished, noticing his three guardians waiting for him, looking cross.

The eldest and wisest of the three, Laverne, approached their son without fear or hesitation, a concerned look on her ancient face, her yellow eyes the color of topaz apprehensive as she assessed the bell ringer's current physical and mental condition.

Laverne must not have liked what she saw, for the regal old thing huffed in frustration and gave a hop, a temporary release of her agitation while she struggled to formulate exactly what was on her mind. The stone gargoyle was magnificent in her old age. She was small. In her aged face was the sign of proud regality, with a glorious wingspan and her yellow eyes that had seen much in her years as protector of the great cathedral.

She had always been a godsend to him, and his favorite amongst the three guardians, although he'd never admit it. In the rising sunlight of the day ahead, his guardians clung to the shadows where they could. In the semi-shadow of the evening after the sun fell, the gargoyles took on a menacing look. Whereas in the daytime, they were merely sculptures of stone, cold and lifeless, in the encroaching darkness, they took on their demonic stares and waited.

Quasi eyed the gargoyles, just for a moment, feeling envious of the three of them, wishing that he too, could have a heart of stone, so that it would take away his painful twinges every time he dared to think of what it must like to venture into the outside world, and what it must be like out there.

_What a mercy it must be for you. To be frozen in stone, to have your rage and hatred wiped clean, made still for all time, at least until you choose to come to life when you three are alone up here, content to hide in the shadows with me_.

Theirs were faces that had never known love and feared it. They struggled against the light of day and fled to darkness.

_But you know full well what it is to be a demon_ , his mind offered, taking the bell ringer once again to his dark place. _To extinguish such a thing is cruel_ , his mind offered. _Isn't it_? When his three guardians were still, they were as cold as the demon's hearts they were meant to represent. But alive, they were warm and caring.

Monsters, though they appeared to be, they were not. Little did the people know that the monsters protected him, just as they protected Notre Dame. In the cold air, the bell ringer pondered if that were why they were cast onto the church, to show that extinguishing cruelty was a positive thing, that there could be no guilt in killing the monsters of nightmares. The other two, Victor and Hugo, were not so pleasant to look upon.

Eyes bulged, over-sized ears that were unnaturally pointed and the grins evoked notions of sadistic pleasure. Hunched, disfigured, and leering downward towards the parishioners, Victor and Hugo were as cold as they looked on the outside.

But when Quasi looked up in the half-light of the rising sun of the cold January morning, those two simply reminded him to guard against the blacker parts of his nature, that all of humanity has a little demon inside their hearts, and it was up to him to keep his demon in his heart as impudent as the stone gargoyle companions of his tower.

"What?" he snapped, not in the mood to talk, fully aware the three of them saw the deep purple bags underneath his eyes. He'd not gotten a full night's rest in perhaps months, and already, he was starting to feel the effects of his tiredness. He picked at a loose thread on one of the fingers of his brown fingerless gloves he wore on his hands to protect them from the bells' harsh ropes and the cold winters.

"You're not sleeping again, aren't you?" questioned Victor, the stoic of the three, a stern look on his misshapen face as the tallest of the three assumed, quite literally, a stony expression as he folded his stone arms across his chest. "Don't _lie_ to us, Quasi."

"I don't see how that's _any_ of your business, what does it matter if I sleep well at night or not, Victor? Hugo? Laverne? _Hmm_?" Quasi retorted hotly, feeling his temper emerge as he swallowed hard, though he recognized his outburst as symptoms of not getting enough sleep over the last few weeks, and as a result, he did not want to look his guardians in the eyes, instead, choosing to focus his gaze outward into the streets of Paris. Anything to avoid the uncomfortable, stony stares of the statues.

Laverne scowled angrily. "It is when you _make_ it our business, Quasimodo. You have shunned us over the last few days. You don't talk to us, you can't even so much as look me in the eye and tell me that nothing is wrong. Don't start by lying to us, kid. Just… _Don't_ ," said Laverne kindly, careful to mind her choice of words around their ward. He was prone to an outburst or two when his emotions got to be too much for him to handle, and the last thing they needed was another outburst that they all suffered. "We're your friends, Quasi. Don't shut us out when you need us the most."

Hugo tried a kinder approach. "You've been…distant lately, Quasi. Is everything okay? What's going on, kid?"

Victor spoke up, adding in his opinion. "If something is troubling you, it's okay to talk to us. That's what we're here for; we're your guardians. Let us help you, Quasimodo." Quasi groaned in frustration, running a hand through his tuft of red hair.

"It's… _her_. I—I keep dreaming of this girl, you three, and I can't…save her," he confessed, his voice pained. He turned away sharply, a muscle in his jaw twitching involuntarily. Laverne furrowed her stony brows into a frown at the shift in his tone.

His voice was laced with a tinge of melancholia. This was…new, to hear the boy speak of a girl in his dreams. This was the first she, Victor, and Hugo were hearing of this. " _Girl_? _What_ girl? This is the first we've heard. What's going on?" asked Laverne.

When he found his voice again, it was hoarse and weak. "Nightmares. Her death," was all he could croak out. He looked down at his hand and absentmindedly balled it into a fist, clenching and unclenching his hand. It was a moment before he spoke again. "Guys? Did I…did I do the right thing?" he asked, at last, his voice sounding strained.

"What do you mean, kid?" Hugo asked, clearly confused.

"When I…this girl _burns_ to deat _h_ every single night on a pyre for the last two weeks, _always_ the same dream, and I cannot save her, a—and I don't know what to do … Did I do the right thing, Hugo? Laverne? Victor? What should I have done?" Quasi snapped, irate, and not in the mood to delve into the details again, lest his memories start resurfacing again, but it was already too late. He angrily brushed away her screams still raging in his eardrums. "I don't…I don't know what to do about them."

"Your dreams, you mean?" Victor asked for clarification.

Quasi nodded, unable to say anything else. He couldn't. What would he _say_?

His conscience cried out to him again, begging for attention. _If in life, we are defined by the choices we make, then I am a monster. Frollo is right. I'll never be anything but. That's just how life is, and it's time I accepted that. I'll never be anything but a monster. I'm not destined to have a great life, a normal life, as much as I might want one for myself one day. I'll never have a wife or kids to share in the simplicity of life's ordinary miracles, the daily beauty of our world_ , he thought bitterly, averting Laverne's piercing gaze as she watched her son with a careful eye, gauging his reactions.

"Perhaps Sister Alice downstairs can get you something to help you sleep," Laverne offered, at last, hoping he would take her suggestion and leave the tower, go for a walk within the cathedral's walls, and get outside and go to the Feast of Fools for the first time in his adult life. He'd never been outside these stone walls, and it was high past the time, she thought, but how to say it?

He nodded, and he frowned as a flash of black caught his eye below, and Quasi craned his neck, leaning against the railing to see better. Laverne followed his line of sight and noticed where the young man was looking.

She was the first to break the silence, sensing the constraining alloy of want and restraint in his brilliant sky-blue eyes. "Have you ever thought of actually going to the festival instead of just watching it up here with us, Quasi?"

The boy hadn't anticipated her question, she could tell, for his blue eyes widened and blinked at her in shock, though his face quickly became impassive and he hid his stunned surprise well.

When the redheaded bell ringer attempted to speak, it came out in splutters and stammers. "I…sure, I have, b-but…you know I've never gone…outside. Too dangerous." He shook his mop of fiery red hair back and forth. "N—no, Laverne. I—I couldn't."

"Why _not_?" challenged Hugo, the fat, stout swine resting his claws on his large hips. "Are you waiting for permission from your master? He always says 'someday' but never 'today.' Face it, kid, the bastard has you good. Wrapped around his finger, Quasi. You cannot continue to let him dictate your life. You're not a _pet_ of his!"

The redheaded bell ringer shot the shortest gargoyle a dark withering look for the inappropriate language to describe the man who he regarded as something of a father figure, and huffed in frustration, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes a bit at that.

"N-no, he—he _doesn't_. M—Master Frollo is _kind_ to me. _Good_ to me, for _look_ at me, this _is_ what I am. I cannot change this," he protested, tugging on a lock of his red hair, and gesturing with a gloved hand to his deformities. "M—Master says the—the people would never accept me for what I am. M-Master is the only one who loves me."

Laverne was quietly surveying the bustling city with a watchful eye, and he wanted to know why she had remained so silent the last few minutes. It wasn't like her.

"Is everything all right?" he asked quietly, a note of concern laced through his soft, tenor-like, almost musical voice as he joined the three out on the Rose Window balcony's terrace, overlooking the city. "What's wrong, Laverne? Talk to me. Is there something the matter?" Quasi asked.

"It's so quiet," she breathed, her kind, matronly voice warbling a little. It did not escape the bell ringer's attention that she had a frown on her face. She turned towards Quasimodo, who wasn't sure what to make of her surly attitude. It wasn't like the stone gargoyle at all to be so serious.

"Something's coming," piped up Victor, who looked up long enough from having Hugo in a headlock. He scrunched his stone nose and ruffled his wings in a look of disgust as he relinquished his hold upon Hugo, wherein the fat stone swine fell to the stone tower's terrace floor with a loud thump, the kind that only stone falling upon stone could ever make.

"What?" asked Quasimodo, his frown deepening, the gesture alone was enough to make his face look even more frightening with the grimace, though if you were fortunate enough to look closely, the shadow of a handsome face could be seen if you looked past the large contusion over his left eye that was, quite frankly, an eyesore. He squinted, trying to see whatever it was his friends saw that he couldn't. Neither stone statue responded at first, which prompted Notre Dame's bell ringer to ask again. "What is it you three? What's coming, guys? Will you _please_ quit speaking in riddles?" Hugo poked his head through the opening of the balcony's railing.

"I dunno," Hugo said with a weary sounding sigh, and for a moment the serious tone that filled the most flamboyant of the three gargoyles was not at all like Hugo, who was always the first to get on everyone's nerves, especially Laverne's. He turned back to Quasimodo, a mischievous but content little smile tugging at the corners of his stone lips. " _Something_."

Quasimodo felt his lips purse into a rigid line as his scowl deepened. He loved his friends, he really did, but at times like this, he wished they could stop the speaking in riddles and just tell him what they meant.

"It's so quiet," Victor commented, a stoic appearance on his regal face.

"Like a deep breath before a plunge," murmured Laverne, tapping her chin in thought. She noticed their charge's confused expression as he looked to the three companions for clarification on what exactly it was that they were referring to, and she felt her ancient face relax into a smile. "We think you should take this chance, Quasi. _Go_ to the _festival_ , kid. Life's not a spectator sport. If watchin' is all you're gonna do, then you're gonna watch your life go by without you," she urged, bearing her sharp, pointed canines into a half-smile.

"I...I can't," Quasi protested, hanging his head in shame, and allowing that one stubborn lock of coarse, fiery ginger hair to fall into his one good eye.

"Hogwash," Laverne piped up immediately, her tone clipped and hardened, which suggested to poor Quasi that their conversation was far from over and _not_ resolved, though the sound of approaching loud footsteps put an abrupt end to their talk. Biting the inside of his cheek, the redhaired bell ringer did not even have to swivel his head to the left to see his stone companions had rendered themselves quite lifeless. Nor did he have to venture inside his bell tower's loft to know that it was Frollo.

The sound in both of his towers traveled, and he knew the familiar clacking noise of the man's boot heels and recognized the light coughing noise Master gave to announce his presence to his ward. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turned to regard the source of the noise.

"Quasimodo." A male's deep baritone voice sounded from behind him, startling the poor boy and causing him to jump, turning around to regard Master Frollo with a rather furtive, guilty look in his blue eyes. The Master was early.

He had not been expecting him yet. "O-oh, g-good m-morning, M-Master," he stammered, bowing his head in acknowledgment. The poor boy whipped his head upward sharply, his muscles tightening and his body involuntarily tensing at Frollo's arrival.

The somber form of Judge Claude Frollo stood behind Quasimodo, a heavily laden supper tray with two bowls of what looked to be soup, a rind of Brie cheese, and an entire loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, carefully balanced on the said tray, a book clutched under Frollo's other hand.

"I—I didn't e-expect you this early."

The judge furrowed his gray brows into a frown as he looked around, seeing no other person up here other than his adopted son and ward.

"Were you talking to someone?" he asked, his voice neutral, his face impassive. Judge Frollo's face lifted into a sneer as his gray eyes drifted towards the three gargoyles of whom Quasimodo was so fond of. _I really must speak with the boy about that_ , he thought, suppressing a sigh. The boy was twenty-one, and entirely too old to be indulging the mind in whimsical fantasies. "You were talking to your friends again." It was not a question.

"Y-yes, Master," the redheaded boy mumbled, lowering his head in shame, painfully picking at a loose string one of his leather gloves.

Frollo sighed, rapping a knuckle on Victor's head. "And what are your friends made of?" he encouraged, his voice taking on the tone as though he were talking to a twelve-year-old child instead of a fully grown adult.

"Stone."

"And can stone talk back?" Now, Frollo merely sounded bored.

"No!" he protested vehemently, shaking his head. "It can't."

"That's right. It takes two people to communicate, my boy, to carry on a conversation. And who is that other person for you, my son?"

"You, you, Master," he mumbled, bending the knee, and bringing one of Frollo's rings to his lips for a brief kiss. "I apologize, I—I did not e-expect you. Shall I get the cups and plates, Master?" he questioned.

"I do apologize, my son," Judge Frollo sighed, his black robes billowing in the wind. "I know it has been a while since our last visit. The abominations and _scum_ of Paris refuse to follow our laws, and when that happens, well…our visits are less frequent, and therefore, I'm kept away." His voice was cold yet fluid, with no trace of sincere apology laced throughout. Such an admission wasn't necessarily surprising, however, given that the king had been keeping an increasingly close eye on the judge.

Quasimodo thought, swallowing nervously, his blue-green eyes darting about the tower loft as Frollo ushered the boy inside with a curt wave of his arm.

Claude furrowed his brows into a frown as he was surprised to see none other than Sister Alice, a well-known nun throughout the church, stalk behind his master, her gray hair pulled up into a loose bun, though a few tendrils had escaped from her thin, tired but still quite a beautiful face. It seemed like aside from the Archdeacon and Alice were the only ones who were genuinely kind to the lonely bell ringer.

The poor thing was panting heavily, heaving to catch her breath having climbed up that long stairwell, which was murder on her arthritis and lumbago. "There was no need to bring up the tray, Your Honor, I was just about to do it myself," she gasped, clutching onto her ribs.

Frollo stood up slowly when he finished, turning to Alice, not paying attention to his charge, who had put his chin on his palm and gazed wistfully at the morning scene below, relishing the cool air from the winter gale.

People of all sorts hurried about, not bothering to greet one another. It was too chilly to stop for pleasantries. Children bundled up in winter cloaks and shawls played by the bakery, no doubt taking in the wonderful smells. Sister Alice's frown deepened and created a groove near her mouth as the nun fell silent and listened to the judge settle onto a wooden chair, . The poor boy got like this anytime the judge came to visit, and she hated it. She hated Claude. The man reminded her of her father.

As Frollo moved further into Quasimodo's bell tower, the redheaded bell ringer fell into step behind him, following the clergyman like a servant, a servant, it should be noted, within his own home. It continued this way, much to Alice's chagrin, as the two sat down at the table and began his lessons.

She folded her arms across her chest and crossed one leg over the other and watched. The boy was always thrilled at an opportunity to please the man who raised him, and she wished she could make the boy see that it was not Claude who cared for him so, but her. To that end, she was jealous.

Nearly an hour went by before Frollo began to grow quite visibly bored. Quasi immediately seemed to pick up on his disinterest and tried to cover up the painful look that seemed determined to stretch across his misshapen face.

"You did well, my boy," Frollo said, at last, shutting his book in a rather exaggerated manner before he stood from his seat. "Your Latin improves."

"Th—thank you, Master." The deformed man's eyes brightened momentarily before they quickly flickered out like the dousing of a flame.

Sister Alice noticed this sudden shift in behavior in the man who she considered very much like a son to her and sat up straighter in her seat, her ears perked up at the noise. Frollo had been about to leave, coming back who knew when.

_And good riddance_ , she thought darkly but dared not say it out loud.

She was still in hot water with Claude for her last little outburst last week. Alice could simply not help herself whenever she was around the judge's presence, for his pretentiousness and self-righteous ways reminded her entirely too much of her father, and she frequently compared the two men.

Before Judge Frollo could turn all the way around, he caught sight of the distraught look on Quasimodo's face. Figuring he should at least pretend to be interested in the boy's pain, considering he'd been gone nearly a month, he paused, though out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Sister Alice, fuming.

"What is troubling you, boy?" he asked, not bothering to hide the reluctance in his voice. He glanced at Sister Alice, whose hatred seemed to emit off her in waves as her fingers curled into tight fists and came to rest at her side. He scoffed and snorted, returning his attention to his young ward.

Quasi's eyes widened for a moment as he realized that Frollo had caught on to his behavior. Unlike his master's eyes, he was practically an open book. He had no reason to hide anything. He never had anyone besides Alice to hide something from, and he hardly paid attention as it was.

"N-nothing, M-Master. You are good to me. I enjoy our visits."

Frollo's eyes narrowed, and Alice's face in the background blanched and had gone white with shock. The sound of something tumbling to the floor crashed and resonated within the tower, and neither man had to look behind him as they realized the pretty nun had upended the chair she'd been sitting. "I am…grateful you see it that way. You see my dear, boy. This is why you stay up here. You are nothing but a monster to the citizens of Paris. And they will not hesitate to treat you as such. You belong up here. With the gargoyles, the bells, the darkness, and with God as your light. Only they can keep you safe from the horrors of this treacherous world."

A sneer curled his thin lips upwards, as he glanced over his shoulder, and almost meanly, added as an afterthought, "And Alice, too, I suppose," he jeered, noticing the nun's discomfort. While Frollo's bottomless eyes seemed to seethe into the poor fellow, Quasi in turn could not meet his master's gaze even after he looked back, his own blue eyes focused on a random crack in the floorboard or a wood shaving from one of his carvings…anywhere but Frollo.

"Y—yes…you're right Master. I—I just…I don't…" he faltered.

"Good day, Quasimodo. Dear Alice," he muttered in a rather begrudging tone, taking great care to shove past her, his own shoulder digging into hers on the way out as he pushed past the woman and headed downstairs. "I do not know when my next visit will be, my dear son."

Quasi's eyes stared after the spot in which Frollo had disappeared for a very long time, Alice painfully wringing her hands in the background. He was barely aware of the woman coming to stand behind him, placing her hand on his slightly misshapen back without fear, as she always did for him.

The gesture was a simple one, but it was good enough for Quasi.

"Don't listen to your master, kid," she growled, and Quasi was surprised to hear the hatred in Alice's voice. "Old Claude's wrong about you, kid. Hear me." Her words were hard and clipped as she gripped him by his shoulders and turned him around, so he was facing her. "Besides," she added, her features softening as she looked at the distress in his blue eyes, "though _he_ might never remember, _I_ did," she grinned, darting back inside to procure the tray she'd brought it. "I made you your favorites. Strawberries and lemon cakes, but you've got to eat the bread and cheese first. _And_ the apple. _All_ of it," she added with mock sternness as the boy pulled a face of disgust.

He smiled at her that warm smile that was not unlike that of a gentle sunset, and Alice felt the weighted burden on her shoulders lift as they settled in on the balcony to watch the square. This year's Feast of Fools was shaping up to be a grand spectacle.

Just barely could Quasi feel the wind rustling in against his face. He turned away for a moment and sighed, fully aware of his wistful thinking. The familiar sound of fluttering wings sounded off again as a small flock of pigeons flew by. Never would he be like them. Never would he fly. He would always be in this stone cage, a prisoner in his own home up here. Frollo's previous words were still ringing in his ears, just as clear and loud as the bells he held so dear.

"Only a monster, Master Frollo is right. It'll never happen," he whispered, and it did not escape his attention that he'd spoken his words louder than he meant to, for Alice whiplashed her head upwards sharply to the right and regarded him.

"I _don't_ want to hear you talk about yourself like that," she snapped, her tone momentarily losing all traces of any matronly warmth that had been there before as she passed him a handful of grapes. "Not today, my son."

He did not know how long they sat there, content to eat in silence, but finally, Alice asked the one question that was burning on the tip of her tongue, just begging to be asked.

"Hey, kid," she asked pointedly, absentmindedly ripping off a chunk of the bread loaf she'd brought and cut into two halves with her teeth, choosing instead to look down at the square instead of at Quasi, "You think you're ever going to set foot outside these walls, and meet a girl one day? Lord knows you've been alone up here long enough."

The beautiful nun's question very nearly crushed his heart right there on the spot. Unbeknownst to her, he had been pondering that very question. What if one day Frollo changed his mind, and what if—by some ordinary miracle, he did happen to meet a young woman who would _want_ to kiss him?

Of course, he should stop fooling himself. Such a dream was foolish, and no woman would ever be with a man like he was, a half-formed accursed wretch of an 'almost,' as Frollo was oft to remind him.

As a woman of the cloth who remained sequestered within the confines of the church, she did not seem to have a grasp on the daily struggle the cathedral's bell ringer faced with the prospect of social interaction with other humans, much less women, thus leaving Alice totally unaware of the wound she had inflicted.

He tried to brush off her comment with a curt hand wave. "No one, I guess," he told Alice, though there was no mistaking the cracking as his voice broke as he swallowed hard to quell the immense wave of sadness and disappointment that lingered in his tone.

Even with that answer though, the nun kept prying for details. "Why not?" she asked point-blank. She was persistent, he'd give her that.

His gaze fell to the cold stone floor of the balcony as his heart sank within his chest. "I don't think anyone ever will, Alice. How could a girl like _this_?" Bitterly, he gestured towards the contusion over his eye, and only when Quasi turned away from the nun did the woman realize she may have said something wrong and with a look of concern, Alice watched him sullenly withdraw into himself, and she mentally slapped herself for overstepping her boundaries. "I'm _nothing_ , I'm worthless..."

Nevertheless, she could see Quasi's forlorn expression and it prodded her to ask the boy a final question in one last-ditch effort to get their bell ringer to open up and share whatever was on his mind. "Well, why not?" she retorted hotly, her hands on her hips as she set her food down next to her lip.

Quasi did not answer Sister Alice. How on earth _could_ he? It should have been obvious to the nun and to everyone else within the church…

Alice's frown deepened, creating a groove near her mouth as she let out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "There's nothing wrong with you, boy, save for the ah… _unsightly_ eye contusion over your left brow bone, which is a bit of an eyesore, I'll admit, but that's all that's wrong with you. And the hump near your shoulder, too, I suppose, but even that's not as bad as you make it out. It doesn't hinder you from standing tall and proud, kid. You're actually quite a handsome young man. I wish that you could see that for yourself, just like I see you."

Even _he_ knew she was lying through her teeth. Quasi could not answer Alice. He didn't _want_ to answer her. Looking at his face on a regular basis should have been an answer enough. There was no woman in the world who would want to be with someone who looked the way he did.

He was well aware of this fact and had been for his entire life. Frollo had ingrained such a belief into his head time and time again.

Some facts about the world were undeniable, and Master was right as usual. The people would label him as some form of beast or monster rather than what he really was: a man, plain and simple, albeit however deformed he might be. Did the people themselves not have flaws?

Were they not just as human as he was? Quasi guessed he could ponder these questions until he was blue in the face and never know for sure, but what he did know for certain was that they would never accept him as he was. Not now, not ever.

He supposed he should have considered himself lucky that he had a few people in his life who were not seemingly afraid of his monstrous form. People like Sisters Alice and Ethel, the Archdeacon, Master Frollo. And then there was of course the bells and his gargoyles, so it's not like he was _alone_. Still…sometimes, he did feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness whenever he saw the people down below, especially lovers who strolled in the evenings by the river Seine.

It looked so wonderful, yet such a simple thing, to be with someone who cared for you like that, something he knew he'd never have but wanted more than anything. Hearing deafening Quasimodo's silence, Alice furrowed her brow into a frown and gingerly placed her hands on the man's shoulder.

"Hey, kid," she sighed. He looked at her briefly, his blue eyes shining with something akin to grief before his gaze fell to the ground again, ashamed to look into Alice's eyes. The nun pressed on. "It takes more than looking to _really_ see, you know."

_The way you behave, you're just like my brother was_ , she thought, pained. Quasi knew there was wisdom in the nun's words, but at that moment, he just couldn't quite figure out the meaning behind Alice's words.

With a tender smile, the nun gently gripped his chin and forced him to look into a small shard of a broken mirror, a piece that she had undoubtedly slipped in the pockets of her plain set of brown robes. "Someday…you'll be ready, and when you are, you'll find her. There's hope for you, Quasi. I know this." And for that moment, the encouragement allowed him to see something else in his reflection in that shard of glass.

For a few seconds, he saw a normal man with a normal face. It made him smile, but the reflection staring back at him was a stranger and was not the way things were in real life. It was only an illusion, a trick of the sunlight.

"Someday?" he murmured, pressing one of his hands to hers on his shoulders. "Nah. What could possibly ever change, Al? It won't…"

Alice huffed in frustration and looked away. As usual, it was going to fall to her to make the boy see, to encourage him to leave his precious tower. "It _will_ ," she promised him as they continued to watch the festival. "You'll see. Whether or not you know it at the time, it's coming for you, boy. Like it or not, it happens to all of us. Even you. Change always comes for us, son. Whether we like it or not. It's always moving, always changing. And yeah. Sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's scary and it hurts, but…you'll never know what the world is like, and if you'll find her out there," here she pointed to the town square below, "unless you take a chance. Change or die. That's our brave new world. And you can stay up here forever, with just these ugly stone monsters for company, or…you can take a chance and go down there."

He fell silent. She pressed on, hoping in some small way to be able to reach the bell ringer, for he reminded her entirely too much of her younger brother before he had unfortunately been killed by a pair of soldiers during the siege.

And that was simply something she could _not_ allow. She could not, _would_ not allow the boy that she had basically raised from infancy to turn out like her brother, Henri did, who had perished unfortunately when he was only sixteen years old from sickness. Alice huffed in frustration and wrung her hands together painfully. She drew in a sharp breath and exhaled, causing the boy to swivel his head to the right to look in her general direction.

"Feelings. _Lord_. The truth is, Quasi, for so long I'd forgotten what those even were. I'd been stuck in one place. In a cave, you might say. A deep dark cave. And then, I found you on the steps of Notre Dame, and for the first time in a _long_ time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. At peace. But lately, I guess I've been feeling…distant from you. Like you're… pulling away from me or something. I miss staying up late at night drinking with you until sunrise, telling stories together before we doze off. But I know you're getting older. Growing. Changing. And I guess…if I'm being _really_ honest, this _change_ is what scares me. I—I don't _want_ things to change. So, I think maybe that's why I came up here today. To maybe… stop that change. To make things go back to the way they used to be. But I know that's naïve. It's just…not how life works. It's moving, always moving, whether you like it or not. And yeah…sometimes that's painful. Sometimes it's sad. And sometimes…it's surprising. _Happy_. So, you know what? Keep on growing up, kid. Don't let me stop you. Make mistakes. Learn from them. And when life hurts you, because it _will_ , _remember_ the hurt. The hurt is _good_. Let yourself feel it. It means you're out of that dark place." Alice said, quelling the hard lump in her throat.

"Really?" he asked, sounding like he was genuinely considering her words at this point. The nun smiled, pressing on, desperate to reach the young boy.

"Why don't you try going down there?" she grinned, feeling the beginnings of a mischievous smile creep back onto her face. "Besides," she sniffed, crinkling her nose in disgust at remembering Frollo's little display of power, such a display reminded her too much of her dead father. "Your… _master_ …can't tell you what to do. You're an adult now. Twenty-two, you're almost twenty-three in a few more months, remember, kid. You can't stay up here to _rot_ forever. You're not one of _these_ ," she growled, rapping on one of the lifeless statues with her knuckles. "You shouldn't have to ask for permission to go outside. Just…put one foot in front of the other and sneak out. I won't tell, kid. Promise."

As if to prove her point, Alice made the sign of the Hail Mary across her heart, though her blue eyes twinkled with a certain mischievousness. "Cross my heart." She allowed a tiny laugh to escape her lips before she could stop herself. "Lord knows I did my fair share of that in my…youth, during…my…travels…" Alice trailed off, not willing quite just yet to divulge the details of her past to anyone, not even the young man before her, who admittedly, was a son to her.

Deformed wretch or not, the boy was kind, with a beautiful smile, a shadow of a handsome face, and an even warmer smile, akin to that of a golden sunset, like…

_Like your brother whenever he used to smile at you_? Her demon voice taunted. Irate, she shoved away her dark thoughts with a curt wave of her hand. Quasi was saying something to her, how he would consider her words. She nodded, knowing full well she'd given him that little nudge, that push he needed.

The change was coming. It had to, and whether or not that would be for the better or not for Quasi, Alice couldn't tell, but as they fell silent and listened to shouts below of the common folk preparing for the Festival of Fools, if only they could have known just how right Sister Alice was then.

It was then that they heard a loud resounding crash from below.

Both Quasi's and Sister Alice's heads jutted upwards and swiveled in the direction of the stairwell, from whence the startling noise had originated.

"What the…?" Sister Alice mumbled darkly, bolting to her feet, brushing the palms of her hands on the skirts of her pair of simple brown robes. "What on _earth_ was that?" she grumbled, taking a moment to redo her loose bun, allowing a few tendrils to frame her thin face. "I bet it's another kid," she snapped, stomping forward towards the stairwell to listen to whatever was going on down there. "Don't worry, son, I'll have words with them again—"

But Alice's voice trailed off and her kind blue eyes widened, her mouth slightly slack in shock. The voice that wafted through the stairwell and into the drafty, open space of their bell ringer's north tower loft was a young woman's, and whoever the voice belonged to, the girl did not sound too particularly thrilled. In fact, she was downright screaming at someone. Whatever was going on down there, it sounded like the child was causing quite the ruckus.

"Oh," she breathed, glancing towards the bell ringer, who had, it would seem, also taken note of the girl's beautiful, melodic voice floating through the tower, reaching his eardrums like that of a soft summer's breeze in July. "Well, well, well. A _girl_ …" Alice straightened her posture and repeated the gesture of brushing her hands on her set of plain brown robes. "Not to worry, my son," she sighed, making towards the stairwell. "If it's a troublemaker, _I'll_ deal with her. You just stay up here and relax, Quasimodo," she sighed. The nun smiled sadly as she made her well down the stairwell, not fully prepared for whatever it was she would find down in the sanctuary.

Whatever it was, it had caused a loud enough disturbance that she could hear a few angry yells from a couple of parishioners who had come to pray.

Sister Alice let out a haggard sigh as she ventured down the stairwell. She hoped that however it was, they weren't here to torment their poor bell ringer. If that was the case, and it turned out to be another group of young lads come here to glimpse the 'demon' as some sort of sick rite of passage, she was going to have a few choice words to say to that group, _especially_ if it was Laurent and his boys again, Holy Ground or not.

The boy had been through enough trauma and abuse already. If only she could have known the events that would unfold…


	4. To Make Amends

**A/N: Some of you asked what the deal with Phoebus was with killing Madellaine's dad. Hopefully, this chapter clears it up a bit. I didn't want to drag out the issue too much, but our main heroine of this tale will still struggle to come to terms with the news and her feelings towards Phoebus throughout the rest of the tale.**

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**Chapter Four:** **To Make Amends**

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**MADELLAINE** for the life of her did not know exactly _what_ she had done to warrant being on the receiving end of such an aggressive look from her intended's second-in-command, Frederic, but whatever the reasons for his sudden hostility, she was not sure how to formulate an apt response to the man's question that Frederic had just posed to her, asking of her why she was here.

Only but a moment ago, she had been peacefully waiting in the nave of the lower level of the main sanctuary, as Master Frollo had commanded of her. Though her toes were practically twitching in her boots, and her fingers twitching as she fought back the _itch_ to follow the Judge up that left stairwell.

And up until the moment that Frederic, this dark-haired handsome soldier boy with the forest green eyes the color of moss on the trees, currently glistening with strange, unshed moisture that to her mind was not exactly tears, per se, it had been almost a deafening silence, with ringing fatigue filling her eardrums. The nave of Notre Dame de Paris was a place where parishioners came to worship and give Alms every Friday, to attend evening and afternoon Mass and Vespers appointments as they saw fit, where the entire country of Paris seemed to have fallen under God's clasp. Where she hoped, her father's soul tucked himself in meditation, if his spirit could even wander this world after death.

Notre Dame, on the morn of the Feast of Fools, save for the old, white-haired Archdeacon whom the young blonde woman had spotted in passing once or twice, as well as a woman in her fortieth year who, if judging by the state of her plain brown robes and graying hair pulled up into a loose bun, had to be an official caretaker of the cathedral herself, was currently eyeing Madellaine with the most striking pair of sky-blue orbs that the young blonde had ever seen.

Though this She-Stranger, this older woman, offered her no formal greeting, and as she rested against the cold stone wall and regarded a white marble statue of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus, Madellaine could only assume she was here to pray, and soon, the young blonde's attentions were drawn elsewhere.

Light and shadow, cast by the lit candles in their pronged holders, flickered and danced in the dimly lit nave, as well as throughout the rest of the cathedral. And now, her peace was interrupted yet again, by the arrival of this soldier. Of Frederic, who Madellaine did not particularly like, though the compassionate, forgiving side of her mind told that this man currently standing in front of her had not exactly given him reason enough to dislike her and that she should make an effort to be more forgiving unless he proved himself undeserving of such an act.

She huffed in frustration and reached up a hand, tucking a stray wisp of blonde hair behind her ears and waited for him to speak.

"It's truly something, mademoiselle, isn't it? A pretty sight, indeed." Frederic spoke up, resting against the cold stone wall, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest, a rather smug expression on his handsome face.

He was easy enough on the eyes, Madellaine supposed, but _spying_ on her, and for that, and that reason alone, was enough to cause her hackles to rise. The soldier wore dark leather, and though no sword rested in its sheath on his hip, the young blonde's inquisitive gaze did not miss that he carried a knife.

Madellaine offered no immediate reply to his question, trying to gauge exactly what it was that her betrothed second-in-command wanted with her.

She had, at first, thought the voice to belong to Phoebus, but lacked manners. Captain de Chateaupers, as much as she despised that gilded golden-haired soldier, would have announced his presence so as to not startle her like this. _But not this one_ , she thought angrily, biting down on the wall of her cheek.

When Frederic sensed that Madellaine was not about to reply to his comment, he followed it up with a second question, as though he believed attempting to engage Judge Claude Frollo's servant in conversation by asking her questions would elicit a response from her. His green eyes were fixated on the statue of the Virgin Mary, though his gaze continuously flitted back to the girl.

"This place is truly beautiful. Must have been something back in the day," he spoke up again, still keeping his arms folded across his chest, staring at her.

"It wasn't," she snapped immediately, not even having to think of a retort. She heard her words, how bitter and unlike her sweet, reserved self they sounded.

No. This was the voice of someone _different_ , someone harder, ever since her Papa's death. Now she was forced to be this person filled with a hatred for Captain Phoebus, her Papa's murderer, that she could not bring herself to control. "Things change when you see worse, Monsieur de Marten," she heard herself speak. "And then when you go back to what you thought was ugly, you look at it again and think it to be the most beautiful thing of all, I believe…"

"Hmm." Frederic tapped his chin in thought and raked his fingers through his thick tuft of short dark hair. "Or maybe it's still ugly, mademoiselle. Only now you think this place where God and His angels reside is beautiful because you have not yet seen the worst. Like _I_ have," Frederic added, as an afterthought.

Madellaine huffed in frustration, turning around on the heel of her boot to face Lieutenant Frederic, with her head slightly inclined, fingers clasped together. "I—I am terribly sorry, monsieur Frederic. I—I did not mean to disturb you if you have come to the cathedral to pray. I am waiting for Master Frollo."

Hoping that would be enough to entice this dark-haired he-stranger to leave her well enough alone while she waited for the Judge to finish conversing with the Archdeacon, Madellaine made to move to sit in one of the back pews.

She barely stifled her groan as she heard Lieutenant Frederic's footfalls behind her as the man followed and scooted a fraction of an inch too close to her for her comfort as her posture stiffened against the wood of the old oak bench.

"There are plenty of _other_ places to _sit_ , Lieutenant!" Madellaine snapped, not at all sure where her sudden hostility was coming from, but the young blonde hearth keep was quick to decide that she did not like the growing look of anger in the young man's glistening forest green eyes or the lustful, hungry look within.

"True," the Lieutenant remarked in a smug, confident tone. "Though admittedly, no other place in the church holds quite the pretty view, wouldn't you say, little dove?" he crooned, leaning forward in his seat, and clasping his hands together. "In fact…I could make the case in point that I am the luckiest man in all of France, for I think the king himself does not quite have a view like the one I am subjected to at this moment, milady, wouldn't you say?"

Frederic smirked and grinned at her, and Madellaine felt her body involuntarily stiffen as the dark-haired soldier dared to cross several boundaries by scooting even closer, enough that his hand was now resting on top of her thigh, gripping onto the material of her borrowed blue velvet gown from Jeanne de Beaumont.

Madellaine felt her fingers curl instinctively into fists as she raked her nails down the material of her gown, biting her tongue in an effort to tamp down her temper, though she could already feel the familiar hot-fire spark of anger welling from deep within the confines of her chest and spreading up into her throat, so much that she could almost taste the bitter, acidic stomach bile that sat on her tongue. "If it pleases you, Frederic, I should very much prefer to be left _alone_."

She hardened her voice so that the familiar hint of steel that her sister Maria also used whenever she was displeased with someone's behavior was present, and she hoped that the dark-haired lieutenant of Phoebus's would take the hint and leave her in peace. When the soldier made no move at all, she swiveled her head and parted her lips open slightly to call for the Archdeacon, though she paused at seeing the darkening look of hunger in Frederic's eyes.

The man breathed out what Madellaine suspected was intended to be laughter, and Madellaine was not at all impressed with the man's efforts to talk.

She found it unpleasing and disconcerting for a Stranger, much less of one Phoebus's own men, to find her in what she had hoped would be a place of solitude. Though Fate, that cruel bastard, it would seem, had other ideas in mind.

Silence fell upon the two of them, but it did not stop Madellaine from noticing how thick the tension was in how Lieutenant Frederic de Marten saw her. And Madellaine decided that she did not like it. The man's eyes, cold unfeeling emeralds, were masked with what should have been a gentle and kind smile, though it did not meet his eyes. Madellaine swore she saw a tightening of Frederic's jaw as it clamped shut, and a muscle in his jaw and behind his eye twitched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Whatever was happening to Frederic, the man seemed to be struggling against something and losing. Badly. But what _was_ it that he felt for her? Hatred? Jealousy that she was to marry Captain Phoebus. Envy? Though she had nothing in life to be envious of. Regardless, whatever his reasons for Frederic's dislike of her, Madellaine found herself swallowing, and let out a terrified squeak as he moved even closer, daring to close off that precious gap of space between the two of them.

"What are you d—?" she started to say, though was given virtually no time to react as Frederic leaned down from his spot where he sat on the pew next to her, pressing his own mouth against Madellaine's, forcing his tongue past her teeth and tongue.

Madellaine squeezed her eyes tightly shut and held her breath. She had no idea what to do in this situation. This soldier boy was _not_ behaving in a proper manner. He seemed to forget the little fact that she was to marry his own _captain_.

Regardless, she could not allow someone, much less the Judge, or even worse, Phoebus himself, to discover the two of them in this precarious position.

Should she fight back? Bite down on his lip? Scratch him, kick him, scream for help? But then what would Lieutenant Frederic do to her if she screamed?

He was stronger than her and rough in his handling of her, by the way, his strong arms gripped firmly onto her shoulders, firmly keeping Madellaine in place, thereby preventing her from making any kind of movement or a run for it. Maybe she would be better off to just keep her eyes closed, hold her breath, stay as still and unmoved as possible, and this would all be over soon and then—

But Madellaine felt herself shiver against her will and let out another shaking whimper as Lieutenant Frederic's deep, unwanted, and passionate kiss continued. His tongue pushed itself past Madellaine's, deep and forceful, along with one of his hands running up the young blonde's spine, and into her hair. He pressed his hand firmly against the back of her skull, pressing in hard. Madellaine was nearing that point of no return at this point. She could not just sit here on Holy Ground and allow this when she had _not_ consented to this kiss!

She had hoped that Phoebus's men (and Phoebus, too!) would never stoop to measures this low to gain her affections, but her plan to stay silent as a church mouse and quiet was not making what was happening to her any less real now.

Letting out a frantic and muffled whine, Madellaine flinched back and shirked away from Lieutenant Frederic de Marten's unwanted physical contact.

She put her hands on the dark-haired man's chest and shoved him, hard, she was sure, yes, she was _sure_ that she had shoved him, but still, he didn't move.

While she did not succeed in distancing herself from the man, she was able, at least, to put enough distance between the two of them to bolt from the pew and back away, a hand over her racing heart, the other fidgeting in her short hair.

She could breathe again. She could speak again. Thank _God_. "F—Frederic, _please_! Are you _insane_?! You're mad!" she gasped, coughing, wincing as her voice practically trembled with unshed tears. "What did you think you were _doing_?" she bellowed, whimpering, and biting down on her bottom lip and sticking it out in a slight pout, waiting. Though before Frederic could answer, he froze upon hearing the familiar clicking of a pair of boots.

_Two_ footfalls, at it so happened, belonging to his captain and none other than the Judge himself. Frederic was momentarily disturbed to have sensed the prickling on Madellaine de Barreau's skin. It was as if the young blonde hearth keep could sense the Captain and Judge Frollo regarding her presence here in the nave alone with him without even _looking_. Lieutenant Frederic was the first to move, offering the Judge an awkward little half-bow of mesmerized acknowledgment before turning towards his captain. "Your Honor."

As he stood up again and straightened his posture, bowing before the Captain and Judge, he offered the petite little blonde hearth keep of Frollo's a light smile, though both parties knew that it was false. It would seem that Captain Phoebus knew it too. Though if he were displeased with Madellaine's behavior, her betrothed made no indication that he was. He furrowed his brows and looked towards the young blonde hearth keep and his second-in-command with narrowed hazel eyes.

"What are you doing _alone_ in the nave, Madellaine?" the gilded golden-haired Sun God questioned, and Madellaine cringed upon hearing the note of condescending in his otherwise mostly kind tone. "It is not particularly safe for young beauties like you. You never _know_ the types of men you'll run into," he growled, balling his hands into fists at his side, and if she were not mistaken, and about these things she usually wasn't, his gaze darkened, as did the color of his eyes as they flashed angrily as he looked toward Frederic.

"I…was waiting for you, milord, as per your instructions, and…" Madellaine mumbled in a meek voice, her voice sounding incredibly small as she turned her head to the left to regard the Judge, who was eyeing her with an impassive look on his refined features, patiently waiting for his servant's explanation.

She hesitated, biting the wall of her cheek. Madellaine could sense Lieutenant Frederic tense beside her, and she knew the soldier boy was waiting for her to confide in the Judge and Captain of the Guard what had happened here, the truth of how he had attempted to force himself on her.

"Go on," drawled the Judge in his baritone voice, sounding bored, though Madellaine could swear that she saw the man's posture stiffen and tense slightly.

"And…Lieutenant de Marten," Madellaine announced in a somewhat louder voice this time as she found herself, "was merely…keeping me company, monsieur."

She could feel Frederic stun at the cover-up, though his face quickly became neutral, and the soldier was every bit good at hiding his shocked look. In truth, Madellaine did not know exactly why she had chosen just now to hide the truth of what really transpired between herself and Frederic not even a moment ago, though she hoped that the young dark-haired lieutenant would take her act of kindness as she spared him from quite possibly getting flayed alive to heart, and remember this the _next_ time he attempted to accost a young woman.

For if it happened to her again, or any other young woman, for that matter, and Madellaine so found out Frederic had tried this again with someone else. Well. Then she would not be so lenient a second time. _Or_ as forgiving. Frederic saw how Captain Phoebus's gaze traveled inquisitively from Madellaine's bewitching bright blue eyes to her pink-flushed cheeks, wherein his gaze lingered upon her lips.

No doubt studying her kiss-swollen lips for himself, and the young lieutenant was _sure_ the golden-haired captain was left captivated, for who wouldn't be? Even angered as the young hearth keep of the Judge's at the moment, her face alone was enough to attract an entire army, where they would bend their right knee and swear allegiance to the girl.

Captain Phoebus's hazel eyes flitted back to Frederic, who swallowed nervously and actively averted his gaze from his commanding officer. "Lieutenant Frederic, sir."

"Yes, Captain." There was no mistaking the sound of ire in Phoebus's tone, or the growing look of rancor on the handsome soldier's face as he glowered at Frederic.

But Frederic de Marten had military craft, coming from an entire family where all the men before him were soldiers, and should Frederic one day have sons, the boys would grow up strapping and strong, just like him, and following in their father's noble steps.

Frederic was handsome and graceful as a knife by the age of nineteen, liable to train and command other soldiers, and rose fast within the ranks of France's armies. He would make a valiant knight or a tasteful lord one day, assuming he played his cards right.

Captain Phoebus strode towards Madellaine, and it did not escape the lieutenant's or the Judge's attention how the young blonde woman flinched the moment the golden-haired man set a simple hand on her shoulder, how she attempted to shirk away from his surprisingly tender and gentle touch, much the way that a lover would comfort a woman.

"I thank you for keeping Madellaine company. She is…quite lonely sometimes," Phoebus spoke up, raising his voice and ignoring the young blonde hearth keep's growing look of outrage as her lips parted open slightly to speak, though, at the simple gesture of Phoebus's strong fingers curling into a tight fist over her shoulder, she got the hint and fell silent. "My fiancé needs friends to get used to the, ah, the _strangeness_ of her new home."

Frederic's mouth parted, his green eyes growing wider and rounder by the second as he realized how he had been utterly careless with the fair-haired, fair-skinned blonde.

He immediately bent the right towards the Captain and Judge, eyes downcast and fixated on the men's' boots so as to avoid staring into their judgmental eyes, pools of steely gray and a rich umber hazel, who were like to kill Frederic with mere dagger eyes.

"Oh, but it's all right!" Madellaine interjected though the way her cheeks were still tinted pink suggested to both Claude and Phoebus that something transpired down here in the nave between the blonde hearth keep of Frollo's and Phoebus's lieutenant.

Phoebus scowled, not buying his intended's sudden cover to come to his soldier's defense, furrowing his brows into a frown at the way his affianced was flushing so maddeningly at the fact that she had, unintentionally or not, placed his lieutenant in an uncertain and rather precarious position, and she seemed to be wanting to apologize, though the captain could tell the young blonde woman was angered at young Frederic.

Frederic lifted his gaze and felt his face blanch as a heavy, thick silence took over the nave and the dark-haired lieutenant could practically feel the pressure on Phoebus's glower. If it were air, Frederic was certain that he would have been suffocated right now.

The lieutenant drew in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as he saw how Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers gently lifted Madellaine's chin with his thumb and forefinger.

He offered her a dazzlingly white smile, though the girl was not at all fazed. "I would take you away from this place. Perhaps allow you to enjoy the Feast of Fools?"

Phoebus's cautious gaze drifted towards Judge Frollo, who looked less than pleased, though he offered a curt nod and relented. "She may be permitted to enjoy the festivities for one hour," the Judge sighed, sounding thoroughly bored as he turned towards Madellaine. "An hour, mademoiselle. And then I will expect you at my side."

The Captain's smile widened. "Good. Good. Great!" He turned towards Madellaine. "I have a wonderful thought, beloved," he grinned, his hand drifting from her chin up to her cheek, the pad of his thumb ghosting along the pale skin of her cheek.

Madellaine waited in silence, though the young blonde offered a very slight nod.

"Perhaps we should dine tonight back at the Palace of Justice, hmm? With the other commandments of the Judge's forces. It's high time I announce our engagement yes?" Phoebus strode his eyes back towards Lieutenant Frederic, hazel against forest green, half-smiling, though the other half… _not_. "Men, it would seem, are beginning to think that you are free to be claimed, mademoiselle, which is not the case, Madellaine, is it?"

Madellaine's lips parted open with a quest to defend, though whether it was her own actions or Frederic's, Phoebus did not give the young woman a chance to respond.

Instead, the Captain of the Guard turned towards Judge Frollo and let out a sigh.

"Sir, I wonder if perhaps I might have a moment _alone_ with my affianced?" Phoebus spoke up in a calm, calculating tone that sent a tremor of revulsion down Madellaine's spine, and she watched in helpless despair as the Judge offered a nod.

"Very well, Captain Phoebus, but be _prompt_. Our duty calls." The Judge relented, with a light little sigh, clasping his jewel adorned fingers together in front of him before regarding his hearth keep, who swallowed down nervously. "You will join me at the front of the cathedral. I will show you where we will be seated. We will have the best seat in the festival," Judge Frollo grumbled, crinkling his nose in disgust, pulling a face.

Madellaine nodded mutely, feeling a sheen of perspiration throng on her brow, though she offered no verbal explanation, instead turning on her heel to regard Phoebus. She swallowed nervously and flinched as she heard the front double oak doors of the main sanctuary of the magnificent cathedral slam shut in the wake of Lieutenant Frederic and Judge Claude Frollo quitting the scene of the nave, leaving her with _him_.

When Madellaine dared to lift her chin and meet the gaze of her papa's murderer, she was surprised to see a tinge of melancholia and remorse in the man's hazel eyes.

"I—I did not mean this." Captain Phoebus offered up in a breaking voice laced with antagonizing hurt. He turned back to her, well aware that Madellaine did not quite absorb his words as she slowly lifted her head to regard the captain, her lips parted agape.

He continued to avert Madellaine Renee de Barreau's gaze like the girl was putting up a show for her intended and she wanted to appear as someone who had the habit of missing his point. Phoebus _knew_ that Madellaine knew _what_ he was referring to.

Captain Phoebus shifted at the waist to regard the fair-haired pale blonde to whom he was reluctantly engaged, knowing full well that neither of them wanted it for themselves. He looked at the woman to whom he was to be married, at her red puffy eyes and dried tear tracts down her pale cheeks told her that Lieutenant Frederic had done something to her, though what that thing was, she was being incredibly secretive of it.

He ground his teeth and clenched his molars as he felt a swell of anger towards his comrade, thinking the younger man would have seven shades of holy hell to pay. While he himself did not want this engagement any more than this young lady before him did, that did not mean that he condoned forcing oneself on an unwilling woman like a _beast_.

She had been crying down here while she waited for the judge and with this fact, he felt fractious, not knowing what to say or do in order to put the girl's spirits at ease.

"Do you hate me?" Phoebus heard himself ask, feeling his almost cracked lips as they parted with a whisper that brokered no argument, already knowing the girl's answer.

Madellaine froze, not having anticipated the question as her mind started to reel and whirl.

The answer, the brutal honest truth, leaked from her lips before she could stop herself. " _Yes_. I do." She closed her eyes and sighed with a strange sense of satisfaction at that answer, and without another word to the captain, folded her arms across her chest.

"Why?" Phoebus's deep voice loomed, hoarse, though a part of his tone sounded smooth, like butter coated on a breadknife.

"You _know_ why," Madellaine spat, unable to keep the tone of bitterness from seeping into her voice, flinching as she heard the anger and immense hatred for the gilded golden-haired man in front of her. " _You killed my father_ , Captain. You disgust me, sir."

"He _asked_ me to." Madellaine's eyes flung open at Phoebus's words. His voice was softer, less rough, and much more subdued than before, and as she spun on the heel of her boot to look the Captain of the Guard in the eyes, his head was promptly lowered.

"Your father. Lucien," Phoebus whispered hoarsely. "He met with me, before…before it happened. I—I served under his command a long time ago in one of the wars. Said there was no one else he trusted with a task of his caliber. It _had_ to be me. And _only_ me. Said _I_ had to be the one to kill him. Your father, Madellaine. The man was dying of a complaint of the insides, a disease, and the old man had not very long to live. He wanted…" Captain Phoebus abruptly paused, still not looking at Madellaine. "He wanted to go out the 'noble' way, the way of the warrior. He wanted to die with what he considered a dignity. I—I did not want to, but the man practically begged me to kill him." Madellaine's blood churned and turned to ice in her veins as tears moistened her vision, and she could see when Captain Phoebus lifted his chin blearily to meet her gaze, wrath burned on his, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in a fit of anxiousness. The man narrowed his eyes as he glared at her, which painted the hurt within. "Henceforth, mademoiselle, I think it is time you _stop_ treating me like a criminal. I know that neither of us wants this marriage for ourselves, but until I can…figure out a way to delay the wedding, then _please_ , for the sake of appearances, for just one night in each other's company, can we not _pretend_ to get along, Barreau? I _beg_ of you, Lena."

He was still, though he watched in utter fascination as a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye and her bottom lip quivered as she bit down hard as her mind no doubt was struggling to process the news that her beloved father had asked to be killed.

It was either that or she had clearly not anticipated of him to use the nickname he'd heard the kitchen wenches, her new friends, Sophia and Jenna, call her earlier this morning when she had dropped off the Judge's food so the man could break his fast.

Madellaine let out a hiss the moment the Captain made a move to lay even a single finger on her shoulder in an attempt to offer some small modicum of comfort to her.

When at last she spoke to him, her voice was small, and it shook. "You would _really_ have me believe that you _murdered_ my own father for the sake of appearances?"

She felt Phoebus pause. Almost but not quite succumbing to defeat. "Yes. I speak the truth. I am a man of many things, milady, but I am _not_ a liar." Phoebus huffed in frustration and rested his cheek in his fist, and as Madellaine slowly turned her head, there was a sudden shift within the Captain of the Guard's countenance that unnerved her. Whereas before, he had been angered with her, with Frederic, now the golden-haired man merely seemed…defeated. Tired, with a look that suggested he wanted to rest.

"I would really rather not. I tire of war, of fighting for nothing. It's a messy business, milady, war, one that I hope that you never have to experience in your lifetime. It is a concept and a nightmare that I would wish upon no one, not even my greatest enemy."

This time, when she heard the shift in his voice, and the remorse, how his hazel eyes were downcast and there was such antagonizing hurt laced throughout his soft tones, Madellaine's stomach flipped as she mulled and pondered over the Captain's harsh words.

Her face fully saw her betrothed in the dim light cast by a nearby candelabra resting on a five-pronged holder on a nearby table, and she studied his golden hair that rivaled the sun's rays itself, ruffled and uncared as the growing two-day stubble on his cheeks and jawline. She saw the red creases on his callused knuckles: angry, sweltering, and hard.

Though it was the paleness of Captain Phoebus de Chateauper's face that bewildered the young blonde the most, and Madellaine bit down on the wall of her cheek. There was every possibility that the man was telling the truth of her father's death. Her cobalt blue eyes grazed over the entire length of the man's face, seeing the shock in the man's hazel eyes, a broken man, this soldier boy, this Captain of the Guard. Phoebus de Chateaupers was a broken man, bound together by lengths of invisible rope, though that rope was stretching apart at the seams and threatening to loosen, unravel.

And yet…even then, as pale as the man was, the Sun God was quite charismatic. Maybe even…charming. Madellaine blinked back a fresh wave of briny, salty liquid that welled at the corners of her eyes, stinging, and blurring her vision, and nodded her head. She decided that she would have no choice but to take the man at his word.

"I…I forgive you," Madellaine whispered, surprised at how small and meek her voice sounded. Madellaine lowered her lashes and bowed her head in acknowledgment, and she offered no verbal response as she heard the Captain exhale a tense breath of relief through his nose, though as she inclined her head just slightly to better see what he was doing, she herself, for reasons that she could not quite explain, was relieved to see that he was silent.

Phoebus nodded and silently offered the young blonde hearth keep his arm. "I am…grateful, milady, that you and I could come to a mutual understanding with one another. I know that we might not want this for ourselves, you and I, but we'll make the best of our circumstances." He paused and regarded the blonde as he led her to the door. "But seeing you like this was worth cheering the morning when the sun rose, my dear."

The Captain of the Guard's last statement to Madellaine was almost too algid as his dazzlingly white smile that caused dimples to appear at the edges of his mouth, and Madellaine swore that it almost stripped her insides off, and she felt her stomach lurch.

"Captain." The word escaped from her lips before she could stop herself, and instinctively, of its own volition and without even realizing what she was doing, her arm shot out and made to grab onto Captain Phoebus's forearm as he pushed the door open.

Phoebus paused, thick dark brows furrowed in puzzlement as he waited, watching, and he stopped midway between the act of opening the sanctuary's main doors to twist his head and regard the young blonde clutching onto his arm as if it were her lifeline.

"…after our…wedding, would you discard me after I've no more purpose?" Madellaine's voice was much too flat and emotionless, that it almost pained the nave gray.

Phoebus remained unstirred, though when he turned and regarded Madellaine, she was surprised to see a look of pity intermingled with something akin to amusement.

"You _truly_ hold such a _low_ opinion of yourself, mademoiselle?" he challenged. "Most of the time, now that I am under your own master's command, I do what is ordered of me, and he has, in part with that of my own family, ordered our marriage. I do what the Judge says, though this command of his was perhaps the first that I was unhappiest in doing. I do not want this wedding any more than you do, dear, sweet Lena."

Madellaine nodded, biting down on her bottom lip as she allowed Captain Phoebus to throw open the doors of Notre Dame de Paris and the two stepped out into the sunlight, allowing the doors to swing closed shut behind the pair of them. She stirred when the captain spoke as they stepped gracefully down the steps of the massive cathedral.

"No, Madellaine," he answered her, turning to regard her with a grim, somber expression on his handsome and slightly weathered face. "I will not." Phoebus sighed as he glanced down at the spirited young blonde woman clutching onto his left forearm.

He could have sworn her saw her blue eyes glittering, but perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight on this cool January morning. It pained him to no end to see the young woman this way, and Captain Phoebus punished him inwardly for revealing his news.

Phoebus had not intended to blurt it out in the manner that he had, but there was a small part of him that knew that Lucien de Barreau's youngest daughter made him feel…unnerved, though he could not quite put his finger on why exactly that was to him.

"You speak to me the truth? Your words to me now and of my father?"

Phoebus looked at Madellaine sharply and hardened his gaze, while the fair blonde continued to look at the Captain of the Guard in an unfearingly, strange hopeful manner. He knew he wished for nothing more than to rid Madellaine de Barreau of the heart-wrenching expression off of her pale face, and he grabbed her arm as she moved, making to turn away to head underneath what appeared to be a makeshift tent, where she could see Judge Frollo's towering form seated in a chair, looking thoroughly miserable. "Yes."

Blinking widely up at him, Madellaine stared at Phoebus wordlessly as he lowered her hand back down to her own and gave her hand a light, reassuring squeeze.

Though his conscience screamed at him to stay this madness, stop it before it was too late, and his arm fluidly fell at his side and he gave a curt nod of his head, silently signaling to the young blonde to heed her master's calling of her and attend to the man.

Phoebus remained unstirred as the girl turned her back on him and headed towards the tent, though the Captain of the Guard could have sworn that Madellaine looked back.

And she _almost_ smiled at him.


	5. Meeting of Strangers

**A/N : Hello, everyone and welcome back! As usual, per disclaimers and whatnot, I don't own any of the characters in this Disney Re-Telling of _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ , only a few original ones here and there like Jeanne, Sophia, Darius, etc. I hope that you are continuing to enjoy, and as always, if you like, please leave a review below and tell me what works/what doesn't, and how I could improve! **

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**Chapter Five: Meeting of Strangers  
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**THE** bitter air of Paris smelled like the festival already, and Madellaine's fingertips felt numb. She was relieved, at least, that Master Frollo had granted her one hour to enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells of the Feast of Fools before commanding she return to his side as his cupbearer, whereupon she would return with him to the Palace of Justice for the remainder of the evening and stay there.

Though for now, Madellaine de Barreau shoved aside all thought of Frollo. She had no interest in thinking of her new master. Right now, she wanted to see the Feast of Fools. Her mind felt like it was buzzing, her limbs so charged up that just walking was not even an option for the young blonde hearth keep anymore.

Every normal thought and worry were banished, there was simply no room for it with all the excitement in her mind.

She paused for a moment in the middle of the crowded cobblestone street, which was admittedly a mistake as she felt herself being violently shoved out of the way, jostled this way and that until she felt like her shoulder was bruised, aching and sore. She supposed she ought to consider herself lucky that a passerby hadn't managed to somehow yank her arm right out of its socket in their haste to get where they were going. Furrowing her brows in a frown, the young blonde woman grumbled to herself under her breath and stepped off near what appeared to be the baker's shop and breathed in deep the good smells of freshly baked bread.

This day felt as though it were her break from her hellish reality, the day when fantastical costumes and creatures of all sorts blessed the streets of Paris. It was the grandest party of the entire year, held every January, come hell or high water, the smallfolk held their festival, always the same day.

The young blonde hearth keep moved on, slowly but surely, having to swivel her head this way and that to try to take in the wondrous beauty of all the tents and stalls. She cursed herself of the obscurity and clutched at the skirts of her dress as she could have sworn, she was sure, yes, she was _sure_ , that a few menfolk who had indulged in a little too much ale or wine and it was not even midday yet, groped at her skirts.

Madellaine had never quite considered herself claustrophobic before until this moment, but in that almighty swell of humanity as Paris's own slum lord king of the Romani people, a group of wanderers, nomads, pilgrims, a strange tanned fellow clad in a purple linen shirt and black leather got up on stage with a sweeping flourish and shouted some Romani chant she couldn't make sense of, she felt the panic rise within her chest.

She came to the conclusion that she really needed a moment to just _breathe_ , and as a consequence, after much soft and barely audible 'excuse me's and 'pardon me's, she managed to break away from the crowd that lined Notre Dame's town square, the massive wave of the crowd gathered to see the crowing of this year's King of Fools, it seemed.

When the crowd moved, the young blonde had to also, and if her feet failed to keep up, Madellaine risked being trampled underfoot, and something within her told her the Judge would not appreciate his hearth keep killing herself accidentally at the FOF. For reasons she could not explain, her heartbeat erratically against the confines of her chest, as she shakily knit her fingers together, pondering how it was that she could have suffered from such a horrible lack of judgment in attempting to steal coins from her previous master, a Duke's pocket, in the order to flee Paris and attempt to go home.

Seeing the turrets of the Palace of Justice in the distance, Madellaine was reminded of the grisly fate she had almost escaped: being hung in the gallows for her crime. She was lucky the Judge had taken pity on her and had not cut off her hand for theft, though he would have been well within his rights to do so.

She _was_ a thief. Of that, there was no denying it, though she had never asked for the petty life of a criminal.

Madellaine closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her wrists, drawing in a shaking breath of cold air that pained her lungs and her ribcage, wanting to forget that entire series of memories as they rolled in succession through her troubled mind.

Though she doubted she would ever truly be able to forget, for, how _could_ she?

Shivering, Madellaine wound her arms tightly around herself as she recollected the moment when she thought the Judge would sentence her to death to hang, though he had not done so, and had come back at her with a different kind of sentence in mind.

There was a small part of her, even then as she stood on the witness stand when she had become truly frightened at that moment, perhaps for the first time in her life. She liked to think that Papa's teachings to her and Maria had taught her not to fear death, and it was not death that she feared, no, but rather, immense, hot pain.

The cold truth was, Madellaine had always considered herself to be like her older sister, strong, self-reliant, and resilient, and she'd never felt scared of any man before now. It wasn't as though she lacked experience, per se. Oh, she had plenty of _that_ to tell.

There had been many occasions when a drunkard in their home village would come up to her after indulging in too much to drink and would try to grope at her skirts.

But… though she could not put her finger on the pulse, there was something sinister of the Judge, something dangerous about the handsome and refined older gentleman, and it had nothing to do that he was a powerful public figure and she his maid.

Judge Claude Frollo was wild, unhinged, and somewhat unpredictable in his actions. One moment, he would smile humorlessly at her, the next he'd sneer at her, and then there was that moment in the nave where his hand had rested tenderly on her shoulder, almost much like a lover would do, and just that almost made her physically ill.

The young woman blinked, forcing her mind to try to think of something more pleasant than dwelling on thoughts of her master. Even in the bitter January cold, Madellaine could feel the warmth of all those bodies pressing in. Other Parisians were gaunt and serious. There were yells, jeers, screams of delight, or joy.

There was nothing for it except for Judge Frollo's hearth keep moving with the crowd and hope that no one dared to trample her underfoot as she walked. She could smell them too, the people, Madellaine meant. They smelled of sweat and ale, a truly potent combination that caused the young blonde girl to crinkle her nose.

Madellaine heaved a tired sigh and rested her back against the cold stone brick wall of the bakery, as her exhausted mind struggled to process Captain Phoebus's news. Had her papa _truly_ been sick? Why had Papa not come to her and Maria with the truth? Why had their father felt the need to go out the valiant and noble way, the way of lord protector over his daughters? Had Phoebus _really_ been telling her the truth, then?

She made a mental note to ask the gilded golden-haired Captain of the Guard later. Madellaine continued to keep her eyes close as a cool breeze wafted her way, pinking her pale cheeks and tousling her short blonde hair away and off of her small forehead.

Madellaine furrowed her brows, thinking what it was that Captain Phoebus was going to do to ensure the two of them were not forced into a loveless marriage, a union of political convenience. And then, she thought of her would-be-groom. The captain. _Sun-God_ , she thought, biting in the sidewall of her cheek.

_Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers_. Her neck stung with the heat at the declaration of Phoebus's name, and she shakily lifted a hand and rubbed at it gingerly, stifling her groan of frustration as she let out a sigh in an unrestrained fashion, thinking she was grateful that the Judge had gifted her leave of him for one hour. This position as his personal hearth keep was turning out to be a much more tiresome ordeal than she had initially expected when she had taken the deal.

The fine hairs on her neck stood as she thought what Claude Frollo would do to her if he were to learn of the truth, that neither she nor Captain Phoebus wanted this engagement, and she almost could feel herself beginning to tremble at that awful thought.

Just the Judge's name, the mention of him in her own mind was enough to send a tremor of fear down her spine and send it weak. Madellaine swore she could almost see the man himself looming over her, staring down his slightly hooked and crooked nose at her, with an immense look of disgust on his lined pale face, as if the pretentious man thought his hearth keep and cupbearer no more than dirt at the bottom of his black boots.

Madellaine's frown deepened, if such a thing was possible, as she thought of how Phoebus had perhaps inadvertently come to her rescue down in the nave with Frederic, and she pursed her lips into a thin line as she folded her arms across her chest, sighing.

Why had she not told Captain Phoebus the truth of what Lieutenant Frederic had done? How he had kissed her and attempted to practically force himself on her in Holy Ground, no less? Was it out of shame or guilt? To save her own pride and vanity?

It seemed almost too concrete a thought. Yes, it was true, she hadn't wanted to embarrass the Captain in front of the Judge, even though the man was probably more than well aware of what his own second-in-command's mannerisms towards young women with pretty faces were like. The images of what Lieutenant Frederic had almost been allowed to get away with on Holy Ground had Captain Phoebus and Judge Frollo not intervened and found her when she had sent her lips trembling, an excess of her sadness at her current predicament in an otherwise hellish nightmare spilled out her eyes.

Again! Angrily, she reached up a hand and wiped at the corner of her lids with a well-practiced flick of her finger and sniffed once or twice, swallowing past the lump forming in her throat. She closed her eyes and allowed her tears to streak down her cheeks. Tears, sadly, were no longer a stranger to her at this point in her adult life.

She was all too familiar with them. Madellaine opened her eyes and frowned. Huffing in frustration, Madellaine folded her arms across her chest, her brows furrowed, still pondering over why it was that she had not told Phoebus the truth of his dark-haired lieutenant, a man who was unless she was mistaken in this regard, something of a friend to the captain, and about these things, she liked to think she wasn't.

Regardless, Madellaine had not confessed the truth to Captain Phoebus that Frederic de Marten had kissed her, and without giving away any further bits of information, it was next to impossible for the young blonde to confess just why exactly it was that she had allowed herself to be both by both her master and fiancé in a rather precarious position with Frederic in the nave of Notre Dame de Paris, that place of peace.

As Madellaine's frown continued to deepen and she felt herself tap her chin in thought, a nervous habit of hers whenever she was mulling over something particularly troublesome, she began to feel incredibly claustrophobic, and she knew the eerie sensation that caused her chest to inexplicably tighten, and her throat to hollow and constrict, had absolutely nothing to do with the massive crowd gathered for the festival.

She had _lied_ on Holy Ground, no less, about what had happened. Oh, she and Maria had told plenty of white lies to Papa before, when they were little girls, like any other normal person, though this was perhaps the first time in her adult life where Madellaine felt as though she had told a significant lie of great importance, and to somebody who, if what Phoebus was telling her was true, that her father had asked of the man whom he claimed to have trusted all his life, to end his misery and suffering, she supposed that she could, in her own time, begin to like and perhaps even _trust_ the man.

Madellaine had done something that she knew was immoral and wrong, and something that she ought not to have, though why she had covered for Frederic's otherwise despicable behavior remained a mystery. Was it because of her curiosity?

Was _that_ it? To see if Phoebus knew the truth, and if he did, what he would do to his prized and precious lieutenant upon learning all the facts? Madellaine didn't know.

Madellaine slowly swiveled her head to her right and looked behind her. There, within a relatively short distance of her current location with her back still pressed up against the baker's shop, rested Notre Dame. The proud and illustrious structure looked as if it were glowing, even among the din and dull, grievous grey clouds above her head.

The heady scent of rain filled her flaring nostrils, though it did not stop the young blonde woman from thinking that their world the Lord had created was truly something. A sudden breeze wafted through the side streets of Paris, tousling her dress, and Madellaine took advantage of her moment alone to study the other festivalgoers in the square. More than a few familiar faces at this point. Her Captain was near Judge Frollo.

There was Jeanne, and Sophia, the young brunette close to her age whom she was quickly becoming steadfast friends with, and the miller's son, Darius Barret, a handsome man of twenty and six who was sweet on Sophia if the rumors were true. Judging by the way the dark-haired, cobalt-eyed man was eyeing the brunette's eye-catching figure in a vibrant purple dress perfect for the festival, she knew them to be.

In just the short time she had decided she needed a bit of a mental break; the young blonde hearth keep had begun to hear gossiping and fearmongering from the other Parisians around her. Their main topic of discussion? The bell ringer of Notre Dame.

A man whom no one had ever met, so said the rumors as the people passed by Madellaine resting against the wall of the baker's shop in the streets, though it was said he was a deformed wretch, an accursed monster, plagued to live his entire life in shadow.

The fair-skinned woman furrowed her thin brows in a quandary as her mind wandered.

Just within the last ten minutes or so as she'd made her way through the Festival, having to crane her head this way and that to take in all the sights and smells, she had heard many things about this mysterious creature in question, all of them awful.

Just the mention of this man was enough to plaster a quiet vibration underneath her skin and send her spine weak.

The topic of discussing him made Madellaine de Barreau feel incredibly ill at ease, so she had decided to _not_ partake in the gossip with them, though that did not stop her keen ears from listening, or her sharp eyes from observing the other peoples' faces whenever the man in question came up in conversation.

Even if the man was a monster, of which she highly doubted, did this bell ringer not have thoughts and feelings, just as she herself did, just as the other Parisians did?

Was he _not_ just as human as the _rest_ of them? Even if this poor creature were deformed, somehow, Madellaine doubted the man had asked to be cursed with such grotesque features at birth, if the exaggerated tales of his monstrous appearance were true. And how could all of these simple-minded peasant folks even _possibly_ know of this bell ringer's existence if no one had ever seen the man? How?!

Though she thought, and immediately _cursed_ herself inside her mind for not thinking of this sooner, Madellaine supposed the bells did not magically ring themselves every morning or evening without fail, always at the same time to signal the various Lauds or Masses or Vespers appointments each day. All of these thoughts swirled around in the young woman's pounding head.

She huffed in frustration and rested her cheek in her right fist. Was this man really a monster like everyone said? Who _was_ he? What was he like, _really_?

Why had she not gone up to the bell towers when she'd had the opportunity to see for herself if the man were real or not? She could have disobeyed the Judge's command. _Oh, yes, Lena_ , her conscience scolded her, chastising the thought as she allowed her mind to entertain what might have happened if she had chosen to disregard the man's warnings that she was not to follow her master above the stairwell to the tower.

_He'd have flayed you alive where you stood once you reached the top. If you reached the top at all, and you know this! No. You were better to stay down in the nave…._

Madellaine reached up a hand and tucked a stray wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear while she entertained the answers to these most unusual set of questions.

Though an interesting smell wafted its way to her nostrils, a scent that calmed her, and her brows furrowed, and she looked towards her left, where it had originated.

The strange scent was coming her way, stronger this time. She closed her eyes and inhaled. It was real. Whatever it was, it smelled of pinewood and old oak, and it smelled truly intoxicating.

_Oh, it smells like the forest_ , the young blonde hearth keep thought happily, and immediately, Madellaine was transported to a time in her life where she truly felt happy. When she, Maria, and Papa would walk in the forest that bordered the edge of their small village of Saint Paul de Vence in days long gone and over with now.

Madellaine did not fully understand how she had come to have such a strong sense of smell growing up, though this had always been the case ever since she was five.

But it only occurred on people's scents, yes. Madellaine knew her sister's scent, eucalyptus, and lavender, which she dabbed at her neck and arms with as oils to smell better. She now knew Judge Frollo's scent, he smelled of ink and old parchment papers.

"I need—oh, excuse me!" A soft, melodic voice that was almost musical cut through the air, that sent a chill of… _something_ down her spine, though what it was, she did not know. And then, Madellaine heard it again, a man's voice, if she was not mistaken, his somewhat shaky, soft, and tenor-like voice that almost made her jump, and in her haste to turn on the heel of her brown leather boot to follow that truly delish smell, she let out a tiny squeak as she practically barreled a festival-goer over, and she stumbled backward, stammering, immediately trying to correct herself and apologize for her haste.

"I—I am terribly _sorry_ , monsieur!" she squeaked, an incredible fiery heat spreading rapidly to her pale cheeks as she gathered the skirts of her dress and sank into a low curtsy, actively avoiding the man's gaze and staring at his scuffed leather boots. "Oh, but I must have almost _squashed_ you! I—I apologize, I—I was not watching where I was…" _Going_ , is what she had meant to say to end her sentence, though as the young blonde hearth keep righted her posture and dared to meet this new He-Stranger's gaze whom she had accidentally almost toppled right over in the midst of following the smell, her inquisitive sky-blue eyes landed on the figure that Madellaine had bumped into from behind. It was odd.

Or rather, she thought, her brows coming together in a frown, _he_ was odd. A most peculiar man, and perhaps the strangest fellow Madellaine had ever met. She could have sworn she heard the cloaked figure sigh in disappointment, or...or…

Was it fear? Nervousness? Apprehension? Madellaine could not quite tell, but the only thing that she _did_ know was that this intoxicating smell that was truly delish came from this man. It was he who smelled of pinewood and old oak and of the wild forest.

This man, whoever he was, seemed to have been struck with curiosity, and she could swear she saw a pair of brilliant blue eyes widen in shock at the exact moment she had addressed the man standing before her as 'monsieur,' which she did to every man on the street that she met. It was, of course, proper edict and it was expected of her, really.

Madellaine felt herself swallowing and took a faltering step backward as the man in question seemed to be struck dumb, for when the cloaked figure opened his mouth to say something to her, all that tumbled forth from the confines of his lips was stammers.

A strangled attempt at speech, she thought. The young man standing before surely sounded no older than herself, no older than twenty-one, perhaps twenty-two.

Though he towered over Madellaine (most Parisian men did, given her short stature of standing at her fullest height of around 5'2), he walked with a bit of a lumbering gait, and he appeared to be slightly stooped over, though his form and the rest of his features were shrouded in a thick dark cloak, rendering it impossible for Madellaine to make out any details of his face from this distance. Her eyelids fluttered for a half-second.

"I—I am terribly sorry, monsieur. I beseech you a—and beg your forgiveness for almost knocking you over. I—is there something I can help you find. Are you…lost?" she laughed nervously, wringing her hands together painfully in front of her middle tightly.

It did not escape her attention that the man copied her movements and seemed to grow nervous the longer he remained in Madellaine's company, which she thought odd.

"I—I—I c—came to watch the f—festival, b—but I…do did not know how to find the..." but the man's tenor-like musical voice cracked and his voice trailed off in silence, and the poor fellow was nervous and practically quaking in his boots, a fact which sent a swell of pain throughout the young blonde hearth keep's entire body, and a pang of pity tugged at her heartstrings. He too was painfully wringing his gloved hands in front of him, though why that was, Madellaine did not know.

In her mind, he had no recourse to be nervous. His voice escaped his lips as a hoarse-sounding whisper, which the young blonde thought odd.

Almost as if…as if he were not used to speaking in front of other people before. Madellaine bit down on her bottom lip, barely able to repress her grin as her soft smile crept onto her face, her lips curling upwards as she was unable to tamper it down.

She tried her hardest to stifle the giggle that escaped her lips upon observing the strange man's odd behavior. The young blonde woman could not quite put her finger on it, but she found him rather…endearing, despite not being able to see any bit of his face. Madellaine marveled at how the strange cloaked man could be afraid of her, how much more when she hoped she had done nothing to cause him to feel such timidness.

" _Lost_?" Madellaine suggested, furrowing her brows in contemplation. "Is this not your _home_ , monsieur? Paris? How on God's green earth could you _possibly_ be lost?"

The youthful blonde hearth keep posed her query to him playfully, smirking a little, watching as the amazingly sky-blue eyes behind the overly large, draping hood of his cloak widened and he seemed to suddenly stammer and trip over his words yet again.

The man breathed in and wet his lips with an almost drying tongue, not even knowing how it caused the young blonde woman standing to affront him to be even more plagued with a newfound sense of curiosity to look upon this endearing and strange man.

She curled her hands into fists as her fingers practically itched, twitching with the urge to reach out a hand and lower the hood of the man's cloak, to see the face behind this soft and beautiful voice that sounded like a million tinkling bells, so quiet and reserved, almost…melodic, in a way, the more she pondered over the sound of his voice.

"Ngh—no, I um…I—I just…I—I did not mean to—to intrude, m—milady, I…I am sorry to—to b—bother you, y—you seem…busy," he whispered, sounding suddenly ashamed, which surprised her. His stammering and the wringing of his leather-clad gloved hands worsened the more Madellaine attempted to engage him in conversation.

Madellaine noted the hint of unease in the man's tenor-like tones, thinking that his voice sounded rich, smooth, and melodious. The kind of voice a man should have, she thought, biting down on her tongue, and shooting the cloaked figure what she hoped was a kind enough smile.

At least, she _hoped_ it was kind. She felt, perhaps for the first time since entering Paris, calm and resolute, when she was around this strange man, which was saying something, considering that Captain Phoebus and Judge Frollo had done _nothing_ within their power to make her feel at home here in what was otherwise a strange land to her.

Madellaine doubted that neither of them could explain the sudden feeling of peace wallowing in her soul, though she pondered the reason for this man's nervousness.

She furrowed her brows, for a moment feeling quite self-conscious as she reached up a hand and patted at her short blonde hair and glanced down at her dress, trying to convince herself that she neither looked nor smelled funny. She hoped she didn't.

"Perhaps I could walk you to wherever you're trying to go? If you are lost, I shall help you become un-lost, for I am new to Paris myself, and not quite as familiar with the area as I'd like to," she pried kindly, wondering if he, like the rest of the crowd that had gathered in the square, were here to bear witness to the supposed crowning of the King of Fools relatively soon.

She wondered, and she was struck with a sudden desire to spend more time with this man, despite not even once seeing his face and what he looked like.

Madellaine could not explain it, though the longer she spent in this stranger's company felt like another moment spent in a blissful serenity, a peacefulness she had not known since her days in Saint Paul de Vance with her Papa and older sister, Maria. Here, she felt almost apathetic with all of the hurt that had haunted her since her papa's death. Though when she was around this cloaked figure, those feelings vanished.

It was this thought, and this thought alone that spurred her to want to spend more time with him, as much as she could before the Judge would summon her to be by his side again, and Madellaine knew that she could not allow her ticket to that place to just _abandon_ her.

The mirthful woman paused, watching as the poor fellow's skittishness only worsened, and he took a fumbling step backward and practically tripped over the hem of his cloak, and almost tripped over a passing customer emerging from the baker's shop carrying armfuls of loaves of baguettes, and the woman snarled at him as she pressed against his shoulder, almost tripping over the hem of her tattered dress to catch the loaves of bread she almost dropped onto the cobblestones below.

"Mind yourself!" the hag barked, by a way of a rude greeting, the smell of pastries and loaves of bread lingering through the air as the door to the shop flung wide open.

Madellaine bit the wall of her cheek and then her tongue as her own temper swelled to the surface at the harsh greeting this aging woman had just shot the poor, flustered man. Though she tampered it down and forced her attention to return to the stranger in front of her, parting her lips open slightly to speak, though before she could, a wild gust of wind, a bitter autumnal breeze that carried the impinging scent of rainfall, wafted its way through the town square of Notre Dame, and with no warning to Madellaine whatsoever, the cloaked man's hood was harshly ripped off of him by the force of the gust.

She watched the sudden spasm of the man's shoulder, and she regained her composure, having squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the sudden burst of wind startled her. Madellaine's eyelids fluttered open and she frowned, looking towards the darkening skies above their heads, putting her hands on her hips and stomping her foot in anger.

"It looks like rain," she murmured, sticking out her lips in a slight pout, thinking that it was not fair, that the one day of the year the city of Paris threw such a grand event, there was every possibility that Mother Nature was going to cause festivities to end early. Madellaine huffed in frustration and turned towards her new companion. "Aye, but I hope they don't cancel the festival if it starts raining, though this is my first time here. What do you…"

And her breaths hitched and caught in her throat as she caught sight of the figure. His form finally came into view, and Madellaine blinked owlishly at the man, hardly daring to believe her own eyes, and she felt her fingers stiffen into fists around the skirts of her dress. The man standing in front of her was…it was _him_.

The monster, that demon, that man. The bell ringer of Notre Dame de Paris himself. The hunchback…

Quasimodo.


	6. Of Curiosity and First Introductions

**A/N: Hi, all, and welcome back to chapter 6! Not much to say in this regard only that I think it's a lot of fun to combine the familiar with elements of new storytelling, hence me bringing Madellaine into the story because Phoebus, as we all know, eventually has Esmeralda, and besides I think Madellaine is just the absolute cutest and the perfect partner for our beloved bell ringer. Anyways, enough of me rambling. On with the show!**

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**Chapter Six: Of Curiosity and First Introductions**

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**NOW** that the young blonde hearth keep held a clear view of him, she could see the utter terror and panic rise within the deformed man at the fact he was now exposed.

His arms immediately shot up to cover the span of his face, but the damage was already done, there was no hiding his face from Madellaine, whose lips were parted open slightly in her stunned shock and surprise at what the wind had just done to him, her sky-blue almond-shaped orbs wide and unblinking, as she cocked her head.

Her first thought, and perhaps an inappropriate one, was that he could not have been older than her by much, perhaps even the same age. Twenty, at best, maybe twenty and one. Though the minute the mysterious bell ringer lifted his head and dared to look at her with surprisingly brilliant sky-blue eyes, not unlike that of her own, Madellaine drew in a sharp breath that pained her bruised ribcage from the jostling of the festivalgoers pushing and shoving past her to enjoy the Feast of Fools, ignoring the girl.

The young blonde froze when she met the man's terrified gaze with her own, a sheen of sweat beginning to throng on his forehead as perspiration, beads of sweat already beginning to drip down his front temples, and Madellaine swore, she was sure, yes, she was _sure_ , that she heard the man whimper a little, making a muffled little noise from the back of his throat that sounded as though a wounded dog had been kicked by its master.

Madellaine bit the inside wall of her cheek, trying not to shirk away, as she got a good look at the strange man's features, or more specifically, the creature's face. His face was pale, and his left browbone and facial features on the left side of his ashen and clammy, terrified face sat rather crooked due to a slight contusion over the poor man's left eye, though from what she could tell, it did not seem to impede the man's vision.

A small but still somewhat noticeable hump protruded near the man's right shoulder, not quite on his back, but enough to cause the man to lean heavily to the one side, favoring it, which gave him a slightly stooped over appearance, though, Madellaine de Barreau had a suspicion that, if this creature were of a mind to, this deformity did not prevent him from standing upright, and she suspected that if this bell ringer of Notre Dame were to do just that, then the man would easily tower over her at around 5'8, maybe 5'9. She was lucky enough to be 5'2 on a good day, _if_ she wore her brown leather boots with the slight heels, and even then, most Parisians towered over her.

Madellaine clenched and un-clenched her knuckles at her sides, though she had to shove the white-boned knuckles of her right hand into her mouth to stifle her gasp.

It was _him_. Quasimodo. The bell ringer of Notre Dame whom she had heard the tales and vicious rumors of during her relatively short stay in Paris thus far since her arrival to serve as Claude Frollo's servant, but _never_ did she think she would meet him.

_Now that I see him, I do pity him_ , Madellaine thought, a little sadly. It was not as if the man had _asked_ to be born this way with such monstrous, hideous deformities that were, like it or not, upon first glance, truly shocking and grotesque, though as the man dared to meet her gaze with his own, she was struck by the brilliant blue of the man's eyes.

She tried her hardest to quell the gasp of shock and fear as she looked upon his face, thinking that, if she focused hard enough, Madellaine could see the shadow of the handsome man he was, or _would_ have been, were he not cursed with the large contusion. He stood an inch or two shy of 5'9, maybe even six feet, Madellaine thought, her inquisitive blue eyes briefly scanning the rest of his body and taking in his most unusual appearance, finding it easier to look upon the lonesome and timid bell ringer as time passed.

_Definitely not handsome, but rugged_ , she thought, biting down on her bottom lip. The bell ringer's face, aside from the contusion above his browbone, was strong and chiseled, though one thing that caught her eye was the man suffered from three long scars diagonal across his face, that looked as though it could have only come from a knife. There were three of them, three long jagged scars that snaked down diagonally on his face, starting at just above his browbone and working their way down until they reached the corner of his lip, which tugged the edge of his mouth downward slightly in a minor, twisted grimace.

_Permanent_ , she thought, horrified, with widened sky-blue eyes.

They were unusual looking scars, an odd mixture of bright white and light pink. Truly grotesque looking upon first glance, and Madellaine flinched as she visibly shirked away, too shocked in the moment to respond to the poor creature practically cowering in front of her.

The skin around his scars was also slightly discolored, suggesting that it had not healed properly.

Madellaine watched as the man slowly unclenched one of his fists curled into a ball, shaking at his sides, and brought it up to his face, lightly allowing the pads of his fingertips to ghost alongside the scars on his face, tracing the jagged lines slowly with the tips of his fingers, before running them alongside his jaw, wincing at the two-day stubble that gathered there.

_Clearly, he must have forgotten to shave this morning. Either he does it himself or someone does it for him back at the cathedral, perhaps, but what if everyone there is scared of him too_? _Who would do it for him, then_ , she could not help but wonder who. Madellaine thought, inappropriately, biting down on her tongue hard enough to bleed.

She sincerely hoped that it did not come across as though she were recoiling away from the man in fear or disgust, though the shockingness of just his scars alone, his other deformities notwithstanding was not enough to hide the simple fact that the bell ringer of Notre Dame, was not exactly a handsome young man.

Far from it, in fact. Though the redeeming features of the man's face were those brilliant blue eyes and his thick tuft of coarse, fiery red ginger hair that looked as though he had been kissed by fire at birth. _Someone did this to him_ , _attacked him, with a weapon of some kind_ , she thought, still unable to tear her gaze away from the poor, unfortunate man's scars, feeling her heartstrings give a painful tug. _But why_? _Who would do such a horrible thing?!_

Too many questions and never enough answers. Madellaine could not help but to wonder, biting down hard on her lip as Madellaine heard a distressed noise come from the man's throat, again sounded like a wounded dog as he turned his head away sharply in shame, allowing a coarse lock of his fiery red hair to fall in front of his one good eye like a curtain, acting as a barrier against that which he did not wish to see, which, in this case, was the horrified expression of the young blonde. Madellaine let out a tense exhale through her nose as her eyes slowly took in the rest of his features and his clothing.

A thick green woolen tunic and underneath that a long-sleeved white linen undershirt, all of which was shrouded by a heavy dark blue cloak, brown linen hosen, brown leather boots that were scuffed and tattered, though well cared for, brown leather fingerless gloves on his rough and calloused hands, no doubt to protect his palms from the bells' harsh ropes as well as the bitter Parisian cold drafts in winter, and as he shakily lifted his chin, apprehensively, to meet her gaze, wondering what she was going to do, Madellaine could not help the sudden onset of guilt, pity, and sympathy that tore through her.

The man let out a muffled little whining noise that escaped without warning from the confines of his chest, throat, and his lips, a truly horrible noise, a broken, mournful whimper, his hands still held out defensively in front of him, as though this poor creature thought that Madellaine might try to physically assault him, hit him, perhaps.

Which was the absolute furthest thing from Judge Frollo's hearth keep's mind. For what felt like several long, excruciating minutes, the only thing she could do was stare. She was quite certain this was not helping the timid man's nervous behavior, though Madellaine was having a hard time tearing her gaze away from his unusual form.

_Staring is rude_ , her conscience piped up, chastising her lightly at the back of her mind, and instantly, Madellaine immediately felt guilty and ducked her head in shame.

An incredible, fiery heat crept its way along her cheeks, pinking them in such a way that the young blonde woman knew had _nothing_ to do with the bitter January cold.

But Good Lord Above, spare her! How on _earth_ could she have been so _rude_?! Madellaine felt mortified, frozen to the spot, feeling utterly traumatized at her despicable behavior. She could not believe that it had happened, and in _front_ of this poor man too.

Her head felt like it was reeling, beginning to spin. She'd _never_ live this down. Not as long as she lived. Even if the other girls, Sophia, particularly, back at the Palace of Justice were to believe this later tonight when she and Master Frollo returned from the festivities, she knew that the young brunette beauty would never let her live this down.

What would her new friend even _say_ , when Madellaine confessed she met him? Would Sophia and the head cook, Jeanne, even believe her words if she told them of this?

Madellaine continued to stand there, frozen, as she watched in awe the bell ringer's now somewhat curious expression as he cautiously lowered his hands away from his face somewhat, and regarded her with a suspicious quirked brow, glowering at her. The young blonde heart keep saw nothing short of awe intermingled with curiosity on his unusual features, almost a strange sense of self-loathing, as his face reddened until it resembled that of a ripe tomato, bright red and burning with hot shame.

Her legs refused to move, too shocked, too embarrassed at her reaction to this man's deformities after the hood of his cloak had accidentally been blown off by the wind. Blushing would have been no problem, the young woman thought, but what she did was go as red until she felt quite certain that her facial expression soon mirrored his.

She radiated heat off her body like a hot, blazing fire in a hearth. Madellaine felt sure that someone could have cooked an egg on her face. No one could have missed this. Madellaine wanted nothing more than for the cobblestone street beneath her boots to open her up and swallow her whole, and not let her out until this passed her by.

But there was no rescue from this little embarrassment.

It was absolute. Torture. Utter humiliation. The memory of this moment would be seared into her brain forever, hotter than any branding iron for cattle could ever flame, ready to pop up and torment the girl again whenever she was in a quiet mood going forward. Madellaine swallowed.

The man, surprisingly enough, was the first to break the heavy, awkward silence.

"I…I…" His tenor-like, almost musical voice was low and came out in stammers, and his voice sounded incredibly small and ashamed as he could not seem to summon the inner strength and resolve to lift his chin and steadily meet the young blonde's icy gaze.

The bell ringer of Notre Dame bit down hard on his cracked lip, his eyes everywhere but on Madellaine, and it was that moment she felt something within shift in her heart.

Something within Madellaine's conscience and heart gave way as she dared to try to get another peek of those brilliant blue eyes, realizing this man was _not_ a monster.

For reasons the young hearth keep could not quite explain, Judge Frollo's servant felt drawn to the bell ringer's amazingly blue eyes. It had been too dark to get a good look at them before, but his eyes were seriously blue. Almost sickeningly blue - full-on Prince Charming from the tales of old, field of cornflower, perfect, cloudless sky blue.

Madellaine bit the wall of her cheek and ran her tongue along the top wall of her teeth. This man, deformed or not, was _not_ a monster, she was quick to decide this for herself. This man, he was simply a human being who had been cursed with some unfortunate features and given by the terrifying way that his skittish gaze was darting to and from, this was perhaps his first time venturing out into the outside world away from the cathedral.

Yet another pang of pity and guilt wracked her way through her heart, once again setting her cheeks aflame until Madellaine de Barreau thought she might spontaneously combust into flames right here for the entire congregation of the city of Paris to see it.

She did not know exactly how she could help this poor creature or what the man might be looking for, but she did know one thing to hold true: that she was not about to continue a life of ridicule and scorn that he was no doubt used to receiving given his looks.

"E—excuse me, monsieur," she whispered. Madellaine blinked owlishly at the bell ringer, surprised at how meek and small her voice sounded, turning her head to the side to cough once in order to clear it. She tried again, straightening her posture before turning back, shifting at the waist slightly and daring to look this man in his blue eyes.

_You can do this, Lena_ , her conscience coaxed, and she steeled herself.

"Hey." Her breathing became slower, her voice as soft as silk, the pensive look etched on her pretty features melting into a smile as soft as the morning winter sunlight.

Madellaine felt her body squirm just a little as the muscles in her shoulders relaxed, the tension slowly melting off of her as the seconds dragged and passed into minutes, slowly but surely, the young blonde woman felt it easier to look upon him for more extended lengths of time, slowly becoming more at ease with his strange appearance.

There was something about that curious blue gaze of the bell ringer's that Madellaine knew she would never find in another man, and it was as if at that moment, their souls had made a bridge, as she found herself unable to tear her gaze away from him.

Madellaine sighed and tried again. "Monsieur," she whispered, having to raise her voice just slightly so that she was not at all yelling at him, but nor was she shushed.

The timid man's deep blue eyes met hers, his glistening eyes filled to the brim with unshed moisture were filled with a sickening look of dismay and dread as he feared what was to happen to him, and the poor man looked as if he were about to vomit now.

"Oh, please look at me," Madellaine begged, all too aware of the desperation creeping into her voice. She needed to know for certain that she had not managed to traumatize the poor thing. "It is all right," Madellaine murmured, careful to keep her voice low as she took a timid half-step forward, having to lift the skirts of her dress to avoid tripping on the hem. "You do not have to be afraid of me. I—I mean you _no_ harm, monsieur," she said.

As if to emphasize her point, she gathered the skirts of her dress in both hands and sank into another low curtsy, a sign of respect towards him, and she could tell by the horrified and dumbstruck look on the man's face, that this was perhaps the first time another human being, let alone a _woman_ , had dared to show him a modicum of respect. Madellaine straightened her posture and lifted her chin, jutting it out slightly as she dared to meet his gaze, determined not to look away, as she could tell the poor man was looking more than shocked by the young blonde's kind reaction towards his looks.

Quasimodo felt his breaths hitch and catch in his throat as he slowly brought his arms down to his side, though not before flipping the hood of his cloak back upwards that his gargoyle companions and the saints had insisted he wears to disguise himself today.

His face now mostly shrouded underneath the protection of his hood, he felt slightly more confident than before to meet this young she-stranger's inquisitive gaze.

He could not explain it, but he felt drawn to the blonde's brilliant blue eyes. The icy blueness generated a feeling like he was being pulled into a lake of frozen emotions. It was like all the myriad shades of blue swirled together to form a whirlpool of apprehension. Quasi could tell by the girl's body language that she was curious about him.

And those flickering azure orbs confirmed his thoughts, though he was much too nervous to eye her for long, not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had.

Though as Quasi's wretched sight continuously found its way from the cobblestone street and then darted back up to meet the young woman's gaze, he could not help but feel a strange warmth beginning in the pit of his chest. The tiny glances that he was able to catch of this strange she-stranger were…really _something_ , indeed.

She—she was _gorgeous_. The way the sun framed her short golden looks caused her skin to glow radiantly, almost amber in the light, making her look almost angelic, even, he thought.

The dark velvet blue fabric of her gown suggested to the lonesome, forlorn bell ringer that this young blonde either came from nobility or was a servant of a noble lord here in Paris. Her hair a rich golden color which could rival that of the sun itself was cut incredibly short in a soft pixie cut, shorter than most of the young boys here in Paris, though Quasi decided he was quick to like the look on this young woman. It framed her elegant jawline and good cheekbones, and highlighted her swan-like elegant neck, then.

Notre Dame's bell ringer blinked as he quickly caught sight of the young woman's outstretched hand, and he came to the realization she was…she was offering him her arm. A woman…was offering _him_ , Quasimodo, the _monster_ , her arm for him to take.

Hesitantly, he outstretched his arm, pausing halfway, leaving it hanging in midair, faltering in his decision, though upon seeing something unreadable briefly flit across the young blonde's brilliant sky-blue eyes, he reluctantly relented, and took it.

Their fingers brushed against one another as she patiently waited for the man to loop his arm around hers, and he drew in a sharp breath of cold January air that pained him. Quasi could tell that neither of them had anticipated the initial reaction or the touch.

Though the blonde did not immediately shrug out of his grasp, which made him wonder if this was all just another one of his dreams. That he would wake up back in the bell tower in time to ring for afternoon Mass or Vespers, and this young woman would be gone, just nothing more than a pleasant but vivid memory to haunt his dreams at night.

"There," she said brightly, swiveling her head slowly to regard the bell ringer, and offering him a dazzlingly white but gentle smile that caused the heat in his cheeks to intensify as he ducked his head and looked away, though he was forced to lift his head to look her in the eyes as she spoke to him again. "That's better, isn't it? I—I must confess, I do not know what you're looking for here, but if you're headed to watch the crowning of this year's King of Fools, which I am told is _quite_ exquisite, then we can walk together."

Madellaine smiled kindly up at him while she reached up her free hand to tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear where it belonged. She felt like she was really pulling out all the stops today, wasn't she, and for a man that she did not even know.

_Oh_! How could she have been so…so _stupid_!? She could feel the cathedral's bell ringer stiffen instinctively upon hearing the frustrated groan that escaped her lips as she thumped her forehead with her inner palm, dragging her hand alongside the edge of her face.

"F—Forgive me, monsieur," she apologized, inclining her head by way of apology, "but I don't think that I introduced myself to you before. My—my name is Madellaine."

Madellaine cringed and bit down on her tongue hard enough that she almost tasted the metallic tang of copper and iron on her tongue that would have been blood. She was aware she was babbling like a blind, bloody _fool_ , a quirk of her personality that she had always despised, though did not seem to be able to tamp it down.

Her last master, the Duke, had chastised her, whipped her for it more times than she could count on both fingers, and she sincerely hoped that Master Frollo would be kinder the first few times she let this sort of behavior slipped, though she knew around the Judge that she was going to have to be careful, and, oh the _judge_!

She—she was supposed to join him at his side underneath the makeshift tent that had been prepared. Though as she had to crane her neck over the throng of people that had gathered near the stage as the pair of them slowly approached the front, as a dark-skinned Romani man was in the midst of announcing one of this year's performances, a dance by the lovely La Esmeralda, a Romani woman of notable repute, Madellaine furrowed her brows as the Judge was conversing with Phoebus.

_Master Frollo does not seem to want nor require my company_ , she thought, briefly meeting her master's gaze and as for a moment, as their eyes locked, Madellaine froze, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them, sending up a silent prayer to God or His Angels or whoever was up in Heaven watching out for her, that Master Frollo would not pull her away from her new companion at this current moment.

Madellaine emanated a tense exhale through her nose, feeling her shoulders slump in relief as the Judge's face softened slightly, and she swore that he smiled at her.

She was free, for the time being. The young blonde hearth keep had a feeling if the Judge should need her services, for her to be by her side, he would summon her then. Madellaine inexplicably found her eyes drifting and settling on Captain Phoebus.

She blanched, her mind ruminating over thoughts of their conversation from earlier, regarding her father's death, and she felt the heat return to her cheeks, though she shoved aside thoughts of her would-be-betrothed for now, not wanting to think of _him_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see as the pair of them gingerly approached the front of the wooden stage, having to shove aside past more than a few rude, drunken festival-goers, choosing to ignore a few of the more brazen menfolk's gazes as they lingered and crawled all over her backside, a fact which would have normally made her blood boil, she instead chose to focus on her new companion, still finding it incredibly surreal that she was in such close proximity to Notre Dame's single, elusive bell ringer, and thinking that he was not as monstrous as the townspeople of Paris made this poor man out to be, and she let out a sigh.

Madellaine watched as a hesitant smile played on his face. She swore she could actually see him blushing this time beneath the hood of his cloak, and she did not tamp down her smile this time as she shot him a playful little grin.

Madellaine could not explain it, but something about the man's gentle demeanor, giant to her though he was, was rather contagious, and she ached for more of it until it became an overwhelming desire for her to keep him by her side. Her heart gave an unexpected little flutter as his sudden white smile caught her completely by surprise, and for a split second, she saw the shadow of a handsome, normal man flit across the redhaired bell ringer's pale features, not seeing any of his deformities.

The young blonde pressed her right cheek into the palm of her hand as an affectionate smile snaked its way alongside her face as she heard the man finally answer.

"I—I'm Q—Quasimodo, b—but…call me… call me Quasi. _Please_." The man's smooth, melodious, tenor-like tones were barely above a whisper, but she caught every word, having already been hanging onto the man's words as well as gripping onto his arm.

Madellaine's blue eyes widened and blinked in surprise as she pondered the meaning of this gentle giant's cruel name. 'Half-formed,' and 'almost-made' is what she knew his name to mean. She furrowed her blonde brows into a frown, mulling over if his name truly were what those folks here in town had said that it was, thinking it _couldn't_ be.

_What person so cruel and cold-hearted could name someone so timid something so heartless as to mean 'half-formed_? _Whoever named him must not have a heart at all_ ,' Judge Frollo's young hearth keep wondered, feeling a surge of hot, fiery anger and unbridled rage start to course through her veins, hotter than any wildfire.

Even with the confirmation that tumbled so quietly from the bell ringer's lips, Madellaine still had a hard time in her mind believing someone so gentle could be named something so cruel, and she was relatively pleased to see that as they waited for the dancer to make her entrance on stage, that the overwhelmed and stunned redhaired bell ringer was seemingly finding it much easier to look upon the girl for extended lengths of time.

"That's an…unusual name," she admitted, hoping that her surprise stayed out of her tone as she shrugged her shoulders before offering her new acquaintance a soft smile.

She decided not to bother asking him what it means. She already knew it.

"I…th—thank you," Quasi murmured by way of response, blinking rapidly at the youthful young blonde currently clutching onto his arm, every once in a while, his gaze drifting down towards her hand which was looped and intertwined with his own.

This—this creature, she—she was not… _afraid_ of him?! His free hand on his other arm slowly crept its way to his cheek to rest over his maddeningly red blush as he tried (and failed) to hide his shocked surprised and foreign sense of a strange elatedness.

A woman was holding onto his _arm_ , and she had not flinched nor shirked away in fear or disgust. He, who was so often scorned as a creature of darkness, of the shadows.

But for some strange reason, a reason that was unfamiliar to him, and Quasimodo could not identify, this blonde beauty did not see him as a monster or demon.

His heart, that damned stubborn beating corded muscle within the confines of his chest, was thrumming so audibly loud against its cage, he was surprised this fair-haired and pale-skinned beauty, _Madellaine, her name is Madellaine_ , he reminded himself, could not hear it herself, given how close in proximity she was standing near him.

Quasi took in a pained, hitched breath of cold January air as he stared back at her, his lips parting open slightly to speak, thinking that no matter how intense his gaze was or how long he continued to inappropriately stare and gawk at the girl like this, the redhaired young bell ringer of Notre Dame could find no strand of aversion within her.

His head was spinning, the blood rushing to his cheeks, though before he could so much as say another word to this celestial like creature who had been so kind to him, he froze as he heard the crowd behind them erupt into thunderous, roaring applause.

The pair of them swiveled their heads back around just in time to see the cause for commotion and the disturbance of their unspoken moment that had passed between them, a fact which annoyed Madellaine to no end, though she had no time to ponder it.

Her gaze was instantly drawn towards the stage, as a young woman appeared onto the wooden stage in a cloud of red smoke, as if by witchcraft, Madellaine thought.

The young Romani woman with the raven hair black as a crow's wing, which fell in thick, luscious curls down to just ending past her collarbones, was clad in soft red silk.

Her luxurious skirts swarm about her slender feet and the bangles on her wrists and around her bare ankles jingled softly with each slight movement.

As the music began, so did her dance. With each swaying movement of her hips, with each alluring twist of her curvaceous body, the young woman who looked a few years older than Madellaine, told a story. Her story was one of entrapment yet beauty, bringing the audience to a heavy silence. No one knew of the horrors this young woman had faced during her life on the streets, no one knew that this was not her desired path in life, all except for Madellaine.

She saw it, having come from a similar path, though the young blonde enjoyed the dance just the same. All the crowd saw was a beauty as she gracefully twirled to the music and rhythm of her tambourine, seductively moving her torso, enchanting the men.

La Esmeralda had started her dance.


	7. Utter Humiliation

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! Hope you're enjoying it so far! The part in the book/musical/movie where poor Quasi gets tormented is always physically hard for me to endure, as I don't like seeing one of my favorite characters suffering in that way, so I sort of* skipped over the worst parts of it in this chapter and tried to allude to it as much as possible.**

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**Chapter Seven: Utter Humiliation**

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**QUASI** felt certain that this was all a dream. Thanks to years of a desolate upbringing at Master Frollo's hand, he knew all too well what he was.

A monster, an 'almost-made,' and that he would never be accepted by the simple folk of Parisian society. He had forced himself to believe that, that he was better off alone, in his sanctuary, out of sight, out of their mind. Notre Dame's forlorn bell ringer had closed off his heart and mind and fought to accept that was better for the people that he stayed up within his tower, where they would not shirk away and recoil from fear or disgust.

And yet, in the end, his curiosity had overtaken him after hearing Sister Alice's encouragement, plus some additional words of praise from his gargoyle companions. And now, here he was, with this she-stranger, this girl, _Madellaine, her name is Madellaine_ , he had to remind himself, giving his head a curt shake to clear it, that one damned stubborn lock of his coarse, fiery red hair never failing to fall into his one good eye that still possessed the gift of good sight.

However, though he knew they had never met before until this moment, something of the young blonde woman was vaguely familiar, but he could not place perhaps when he might have seen this girl. Certainly not in his tower and given this was his first time out here….

This young blonde woman had looked upon him as though he were, dare to think this somewhat cynical and cold-hearted thought, 'normal.' He almost laughed to himself, fully expecting this to be a sleep-deprived hallucination. It was surely only a matter of time before she would run, flee.

How her kind and soft, gentle smile would melt away to be replaced with a look of immense disgust and horror at the worst of his physical attributes.

Though Quasimodo seemed unable to take his eyes off this girl, this mysterious she-stranger, who, he guessed, given she had told him her name, and had smiled at him and looked upon him as a friend would, was no stranger anymore. Unable to breathe, his jaw hung slightly slack in shock as he gawked.

Notre Dame's bell ringer did not know exactly what she wanted of someone, the likes of him, though he could not deny her hand on his arm felt…nice. Warm. Inviting. He did not think this woman meant him any harm.

 _If she meant to, she would have done it already, kid_ , Laverne's voice at the back of his mind piped up, at the darkest corner of the recesses of his mind.

Even lifeless or whenever they were not present, his guardians and saints still found ways to talk to him. Right now, at this moment was no exception to that rule. Quasi sighed and brushed away her voice with a curt wave of his gloved hand, the hand speckling to his cheeks. She had seen it.

Madellaine quirked a thin blonde brow his way in suspicion, though a hesitant and slightly crooked, playful smile etched its way onto her features.

It was such a simple gesture, but the fact that it was directed to him, he who was reviled as a demon, a monster, a creature of the shadows, of darkness, caused his heart, that damned stubborn corded muscle within the confines of his chest, to pound and beat relentlessly in its cage, until he thought it might spout wings and fly out of his chest like one of the north bell tower's gray pigeons.

Silence reigned between the pair of them, despite the bustling of the performance on stage and the crowd of mostly raucous menfolk's catcalls.

Quasi figured it did because she was looking at something, perhaps the ebony-haired woman currently performing on stage, though as he nervously stole what little glances he could of the young blonde, he felt an unfamiliar warm feeling begin to tingle in the confines of his chest, setting his face aflame.

A single snowflake landed on Madellaine's shoulder, pristine white against the dark blue velvet of her illustrious gown. She looked at it and both cast their eyes upward to meet the sight of more gentle snowflakes descending.

The people crowded around the stage stirred, but it wasn't of the snow, but rather, La Esmeralda's dance was becoming more and more suggestive.

Quasi was a little bit disturbed to have been able to sense the prickling on Madellaine's skin as she seemed unable to tear her gaze away from the girl.

It was if the young blonde could sense that he was looking at her without even seeing him, though he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her at the front and center of the stage, awaiting this year's crowning of the King of Fools. It bothered him immensely that he could not place her now.

The fact that he could not place this young woman's eerie familiarity was enough to send him mad, plastering as a quiet vibration underneath his skin that made it crawl.

 _So, where, then…_? He thought, mulling over this, furrowing his brows into a slight frown, but had no time to ponder it as the King of the Romani people, a tanned, dark-skinned man by the name of Clopin Trouillefou got back up on stage following La Esmeralda's dance, announcing in a loud, resonating voice, the time had come to crown the King of Fools. The desolate bell ringer blinked, ducking his head as the beautiful Romani woman bounded forward on her heels, a tan hand outstretched.

"Come, my friend," she grinned, flashing the pair of them a dazzlingly white smile. "You should try your hand at being our king, monsieur," the Romani woman teased, her voice low and husky.

Madellaine blinked. She drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and shook her head, unsure where this sudden prick of terror that tugged at her heartstrings was coming from. The only thing she could say for certain was that she did not quite like how this older woman was eyeing her new acquaintance, this bell ringer. Her raven hair rippled in luscious waves and kinky curls to just past her shoulders, and had a small, lovely face, innocent in some ways and yet not.

 _Spying_ , Madellaine thought, feeling a muscle behind her lid twitching.

"Must've been beautiful some time ago, no?" The woman spoke up.

It took Judge Frollo's young blonde hearth keep several minutes before it registered that she spoke of this bell ringer and his appearance, and the realization hit her like ice. Not only did this beautiful Romani woman think the boy had not been born with these unfortunate features, but also, it hit the young blonde hearth keep that Notre Dame's bell ringer was her own master's charge.

She—she _knew_ it. The Judge had gone up to the very bell towers that he was rumored to live in if Madellaine chose to take the peasant's gossiping at face value right now.

There could be no other explanation as to why the Judge had done it.

Madellaine felt as though the very blood that ran through her veins had turned to ice, chilling her, freezing her insides and as a result, rooted to her spot. This young man who could not have been older than her by a year or two, would be reviled by the citizens of Paris if he went up on that stage, and to make matters worse, she was quite certain, of this she was sure, yes, she was _sure_ , that given he was Judge Claude Frollo's ward, that the man had not exactly given his express permission for the man to wander the streets today.

Otherwise, why else would he need such a heavy cloak to shroud his features from the rest of the world? Oh, _no_. No, no, _no_. She could _not_ allow it.

She had yet to see Master Frollo's rumored temper for herself, and she hoped that she never did, though this? If Madellaine were to allow his ward to get up on that stage and expose himself to the rest of the entire city of Paris, there was no telling the rancor the Judge would unleash upon her, but more importantly, on this innocent man whose only crime was wanting to see the festival sighs. Madellaine sighed.

Unfortunately, the woman, Esmeralda, noticed Madellaine's expression, and her dark brows knitted together in a quandary as she waited for the young petite blonde who was admittedly a good two heads shorter than her to answer. Madellaine abhorred violence, though if this woman did not quit eyeing her and her new friend with such animosity, she knew there would be no choice but for her to try to defend this poor young creature with means she would rather not resort to if she could at all help it.

Madellaine coughed once to clear her throat, and before she could fathom even what she was happening, her arm shot out and caught her new acquaintance by his arm, causing the cloaked bell ringer to falter in his decision.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, steeling herself for the poisonous venom that was about to spew from her mouth, cursing herself for this, but she had no choice. "It _wasn't_ ," she growled, whisper-hissing her words through gritted teeth, glancing at the redhaired bell ringer out of the corner of her eye, who was regarding her statement with a confused, lost expression.

Madellaine heard her words in an effort to get the Romani woman to leave this poor man alone in peace and did not stop. "But things change when you see worse. And then you go back to what you _think_ is ugly, and find them beautiful," she mumbled, grumbling her words to herself under her breath.

She did not notice at the moment, but her ironclad grip on Quasi's arm tightened considerably, enough that she heard Notre Dame's bell ringer give a barely audible gasp of surprise, and Madellaine quickly withdrew her hand, as though the very act of just touch the man's shirt sleeve had burned her palm.

The dancer, La Esmeralda, breathed out what she guessed was supposed to be laughter, though Madellaine remained unconvinced of her genuineness.

She found herself not at all impressed, finding it unpleasing to an unsettling degree how the exotic, ebony-haired woman simply wouldn't leave.

"Or maybe," Esmeralda offered coyly by way of retort, "it is _still_ ugly, only now you think it is truly beautiful because you haven't seen the _worst_."

The dark-haired, tanned dancer turned towards Quasi, offering the man a dazzlingly disarming white smile that, for reasons Madellaine could yet again not explain, not even if there was a knife held to her throat, caused her blood to boil and the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand, her pale skin to crawl.

"We need a _king_ , my friend. You are a fine contender. Come." Silence fell, but Madellaine was no fool. She could feel the thick tension in the air between them in that this was how this woman, La Esmeralda, viewed her.

And she did not _like_ it. Her eyes, cold glistening emeralds, were masked well enough with a friendly smile, Madellaine supposed, but something inside Madellaine chilled her as the woman reached for his arm below the stage.

Why was this woman, La Esmeralda, so persistent? She was hellbent on pulling him up on stage and crowning him king.

Madellaine found herself swallowing, her throat feeling like it hollowed and constricted within her throat as it cut off sweet, precious air to her passages.

The dancer's pseudo-sweetness towards her made her want to vomit, and she swore she could taste the bitter acidic stomach bile as it crept up her throat and settled on her tongue. The young blonde perceived the hesitations of Notre Dame's bell ringer, and Madellaine sensed perhaps her only shot at preventing this. Her arm shot out once more and caught Quasi's arm, her fingers curling into an ironclad tight fist, stronger than she realized, over the fabric of his long-sleeved linen undershirt.

"Do not _do_ this, my friend," she murmured lowly. Madellaine craned her neck, having to stand up on her toes. "Your...your master, he is watching. Do not go up there, Quasi."

Judge Frollo was regarding his hearth keep from his seat under the awning with furrowed graying brows, his jeweled-adorned fingers clasped.

His expression was one of suspicion, as he quirked a brow her way. Madellaine swallowed nervously and offered a curt nod of her head, bowing her head in submissive respect towards the very man who'd saved her from the gallows.

She swiveled her head back around, just in time to lock eyes with La Esmeralda one last time, with Esmeralda's coy and rather flirtatious little smile.

" _No_!" she swore under her breath through gritted teeth, her arm left hanging in midair as she recognized she was too late to stop this from taking place. Madellaine felt like the fool with her arm grasping at nothing but air.

She wished for nothing more than to be able to cut it off, given she had failed to stop the Romani woman from grabbing the lonesome bell ringer and pulling him up on the stage against his will, without his express permission.

Madellaine felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins, and she thought she might be horribly sick. She—she had to get him _off_ the stage.

Feeling her jaw tense and tighten, she began to climb up onto the wooden platform, only for none other than Ser Frederic—when did he get here?!—to grasp her arms behind her back with just one hand, the other winding its way tightly around the pale column of her throat like poison ivy.

"I don't _think_ so, mademoiselle," he murmured lowly under his breath, whisper-hissing his words into the beautiful shell of her right ear. "You are no ugly thing," he crooned. "A beautiful woman like you does not belong up there," Ser Frederic, Captain Phoebus's lieutenant, growled in an angry voice. "What kind of second-in-command would I be to my captain to lack the will to keep his…betrothed safe? I would truly lack the courage to do my captain's will, and Phoebus de Chateauper's will, mademoiselle, keeps you safe, my dear little dove, pretty thing. That stage with those filthy _vagabonds_ is no place for the likes of you, dear thing," he growled, causing Madellaine to crane her neck upward to look into his listless green eyes, devoid of any semblance of warmth. She shivered, not bothering to repress the cold chill that went down her back and traveled all the way to the tips of her toes in her brown leather boots.

" _Ngh—no! Frederic—get—of—of—me_!" Madellaine gasped, her lungs and shoulders heaving for the bitter cold of the January air that was not coming to her, and black spots danced at the corners of her vision as she struggled wildly, already knowing her efforts against a trained soldier of the king's guard to be utterly futile and in vain. " _I—I have to help him! He—he can't! Let go_!"

She could not bloody believe this was happening to her. Madellaine cringed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she felt the dark-haired lieutenant's fingers curl into a tight grip around her waist, gripping her almost painfully so.

The leather straps on his body, the slightly drunken, dark gaze, and she swore she could smell the wine spirits on his breath. Madellaine scrunched her nose in disgust and sharply turned her head to the left as she felt him nip her ear, unable to tamper down the tremor of fear that snaked down her spine.

Her anger emanated off of her in waves as she struggled to stand on her tiptoes to see over the din of the crowd, trying to spot any signs of Quasimodo.

None that she could see. Madellaine could not explain it for the life of her, but he was perhaps the sweetest, but also the strangest man she had ever met in her entire young adult life, and she had known him but all of ten minutes at best, and now, if she could not reach him in time, it was all over.

Madellaine grunted and squirmed in the contemptuous man's grasp, though it did not cause the man to relinquish his hold on her slender waist.

If anything, it only tightened. "Oh, little dove," he protested. "You cannot leave _now_." His words were poisonous, dripping from his tongue as venomous honey, sweet, and yet deadly. "You will miss the _surprise_ , my dear."

The young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's continued to resist Lieutenant Frederic de Marten's attempts to subdue her, much to his chagrin.

In the ensuing struggle with the soldier of Captain Phoebus, Madellaine Renee de Barreau completely missed the unmasking of the other contestants that La Esmeralda had escorted up of their own volition up onto the platform.

Yet another fact which caused Madellaine's blood to boil in her veins.

Those other contestants had been given a choice. That boy had _not_. Was this man _truly_ so reviled throughout the city of Paris so as to not have a will of his own? She—she should have _asked_ him whether or not he wanted to come up!

She _hadn't_ , and now, that man was about to suffer the consequences of her poor decision, and Madellaine was quick to decide she did not like La Esmeralda. The very ice of the cold, bitter January breeze as it wafted through Notre Dame's town square, carrying with it the scent of spices and distant rainfall, stung her lungs and pinked her cheeks from the cold. The security she felt when she first set out to explore the sights of this year's Feast of Fools gone.

Madellaine de Barreau felt the boring eyes of the peasant folk around her as though they were hot branding irons for cattle at the back of her skull. Her head turned quickly to the left and right in a frenzied state of panic, turning to every corner near the front of this damned forsaken stage.

And then, an ear-piercing shriek of a young woman's rent the air, and it felt as though Time itself had stopped and the entire town square fell silent.

 _Silent_. Even Frederic ceased his attempts to maintain his ironclad grip about her waist, and Madellaine wrenched her arm free of his wandering hands.

Madellaine scowled, cobalt-blue eyes darkening, almost cerulean in color, as her head whiplashed to her left in search of the source of the disturbance. The young blonde woman looked up just in time to see none other than the very woman who had pulled that poor man up onto the stage take a step back from Notre Dame's bell ringer, the hood of his dark cloak now lowered. Esmeralda recoiled; a look of horror evident upon her exotic features.

The young blonde hearth keep let out a squeak of horror and were it not for Lieutenant Frederic pulling her back her arm when the man had, her feet would have been trampled on as the crowd collectively stepped back from the stage, and it was then that Madellaine began to hear the hushed whispers.

The Parisians flinched away in disgust and horror, staring wide-eyed up at the stage at the elusive, mysterious figure of Notre Dame's sole bell ringer.

Madellaine flinched as she heard the whispers turn into shouts, and she dared not look, though she could hear the tormented whimpers of Quasi, and she heard the sound of what could only be ropes thrown, and his struggles.

"No," she whispered hoarsely, blinking back salty liquid, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "We have to— _I_ have to help you," she cried, whispering her words through gritted teeth. "Look at me, my friend, I—I know it hurts, but look at me," she whispered pleadingly, knowing the man could not hear.

But still, she had to try above the din of the crowd jeering at Quasi.

"Oh, my God, is that a _mask_?!" An aging woman shrieked angrily.

"It's his _face_! Good Lord Above in Heaven, spare us this torment!"

"The devil take him back to Hell where he belongs!" a man growled.

"It's the ugly hunchback! He's bad luck! Judge Frollo's _pet_!" someone jeered, and this caused Madellaine's blue, almond-shaped eyes to widen in fear.

She winced, slowly turning at the waist as Madellaine heard the familiar footfalls of the Judge's boots. Silence took over as the town square fell silent.

His straight, thin lips reformed to a smile as he stared down Madellaine at his slender but slightly crooked nose at her, but it was obvious it was faux.

"M—Master Frollo," Madellaine murmured, a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks, her nervous gaze flitting to her boots and then back upward at the stage, where the poor man was utterly humiliated, lengths of rope thrown about his waist, behind his arms, which had been wrenched behind his back, though the worst was around his neck, as someone had tried to strangle him. She winced, already seeing the red marks developing on the pale column of his throat. "Please. I—I beg of you and beseech you. End this cruelty…"

He continued to smile at Madellaine, though she knew it to be false. Strained. He walked underneath the falling snow to the front of the stage. "It is over. Everyone attending the festival will vacate these premises immediately," Judge Frollo growled menacingly through gritted teeth. "Enough. We—we must show compassion to this… _creature_ ," he snarled, spitting the last word as though it were poison that settled upon his tongue. "God loves even a _monster_ ," Judge Frollo growled, glowering at the humiliated redhaired man.

The poor hunchback made a muted noise that sounded like a pitiful whimper as he leaped off the stage, not even looking at the crowd as they collectively parted as the Red Sea had for Moses, all utterly terrified of him, equal looks of psychological disturbance and horror etched upon their faces, becoming wet as snowflakes started to fall.

Madellaine did not hesitate to rush to the man's side, as strange as he was, she found him rather endearing, and to see him suffer such torment….

It was unfathomable. Her mind felt like it was reeling, pounding so hard against the front of her temples, she was surprised she did not just burst.

She had not spent long in the Judge's servitude; therefore, she was unsure how to feel. Nevertheless, Madellaine knew she had to try to apologize if only to placate him into attempting to be not so harsh on this poor man.

"M—milord, please forgive me. I merely ran into your ward in the streets and it was _I_ who invited him to walk with me. Punish me if you must, but do not harm him, he meant no ill will, Master Frollo. _Please_ …."

"You should not be _out_ here, mademoiselle," Judge Frollo announced, as he deflected her pathetic attempt at an apology, his baritone voice condescending as he fixed his young blonde hearth keep with an icy stare. "You could become sick in these harsh temperatures and need a doctor should you choose now to fall ill, my dear little thing."

Quasi, not one to want to look upon his master's face and see the immense rancor and disappointment that now clouded the Judge's gray eyes, which on a good day, rivaled the finest steel of a knight's suit of armor, despite his better judgement, he looked, how the Judge's eyes traveled from her cheek.

"Yes, Master, please forgive me, I—I will return home at once, but please," Madellaine breathed in an incredibly small voice, trying once again to reach him. "Please. Take pity on your young ward. Do not punish him, sire."

He was sure his master was strangely captivated by the blonde's presence, as he had found himself a moment ago, for what man would not be?

Even dipping into a low curtsy before him, her face alone was more than enough to attract an entire army. "Punish _me_." Madellaine's voice was small, as she made no move to get up from her curtsy, her head inclined.

"N—no, d—do not, I—I am s—sorry, Master. I will never disobey you again," Quasi murmured, his cheeks burning bright red with shame and humiliation. Though as he cast a cautious glance towards the young blonde, his mouth parted slightly open in shock, cobalt blue eyes stupefied. How?!

How could he have been so utterly _careless_? This girl was Master Frollo's servant? His new hearth keep at the Palace of Justice. He had made mention of during his last visit prior to the one this morning of needing a new girl, though one had, at that time, had yet to be found and hired onto his staff.

Immediately, Notre Dame's bell ringer found himself on bent knee, face lowered, apologetic, and specked with shame, his eardrums still ringing with the peoples' horrifying screams, and the visions of their horrified stares forever embedded into his memory, much as a name is engraved upon a tombstone.

"I—I am s—sorry, m—milady," he stammered. "E—excuse me, h—had I known…it was shameless of me…I—I did not e—expect you to be…"

"It's all right," Madellaine interjected in what she hoped was a soothing voice, her arm resting on his slightly misshapen shoulder near his hump. "I do not mind. We should…we should take you inside, a—and get you cleaned up."

She winced, seeing bits of rotten tomato juice clinging to his wild tuft of ginger, coarse hair from where the townspeople had pelted him with bits of discarded food.

Quasi straightened his posture, still unable to bring himself to meet the young blonde's gaze or that of his master's as the crowd around began to disperse. He was unable to melt the shock and horror that lingered in his mind.

It did not escape his attention, to see out of the corner of his eye as he dared to peek out from behind that one stubborn lock of his fiery bang that never failed to fall into his eye as he hung his head, that Madellaine was flushing as well, to have placed him in a compromising position with his— _our_ _master_ , he thought wildly, his blue eyes widening, his mind feeling like it was reeling.

The bell ringer was briefly of a mind to apologize and wanted nothing more than fall on bended knee and beseech his master to forgive his actions, but he knew it would merely drag the two of them into a quarrel much sooner.

Quasi could fathom the pressure on his master's look as the thick, uncomfortable silence continued to remain, until, by some act of God, only the three of them lingered in the square, just in front of Notre Dame's front doors.

If the withering look he was currently receiving from Master Frollo were air, he would have long since suffocated by now.

He knew his master well, and he half-expected Master Frollo to summon forth his new Captain of the King's Guard, a gilded, golden-haired man by the looks of him, every bit looking the part of a knight from the storybooks of the tales of ancient times, to have him thrown in the Palace of Justice or to be whipped out of disrespect for daring to get within such a close physical proximation to this young woman.

He tensed as he witnessed the Judge cup the young blonde's chin in his hand with his thumb and forefinger. "You are a merciful young woman, dear."

The Judge emanated a tense exhale through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Captain Phoebus!" he barked, and Madellaine and Quasi collectively flinched as the archer came forth.

"Sir," he murmured, inclining his head by way of response. "Your orders?" He stood at attention with his hands clasped neatly in front of him.

"Escort the boy back inside the cathedral, and see it to my hearth keep gets something to eat and bring her back to the Palace of Justice, Captain…"

The Judge watched in stoic silence as Phoebus nodded his head. If he was shocked by the abrupt kindness of the man's order, he hid it quite well.

Quasi flinched, feeling his breaths catch in his throat as his master's tall, slender, and the imposing figure turned towards him, no semblance of warmth within his gray eyes to be found, his lips pursed into such a thin line they almost disappeared. "I—I am sorry, Master. I—I will never disobey you again…"

This much was true, and the look the Judge was giving him as he limped his way towards the front entrance of the cathedral, violently shrugging out of the gilded-haired man's grip the moment the Captain so much as set a finger on his shoulder, the look was acidic and perilous, full to the brim with hostility.

To Quasi, it was a warning as clear as daylight. To stay inside the cathedral or the next time, he would deeply regret it.

Hesitant, he turned towards Madellaine, who, again, did not shirk away from him. He cautiously, with nervous trepidation, held out his gloved hand.

She began to accept his invitation, taking a timid step in his direction. Without so much as a word, Madellaine allowed the strange man whom she had met in the town square today, on what was perhaps the single worst day of his miserable, lonesome existence, to lead her inside the church.

Now that he had experienced a taste of the outside world for himself, he was not eager to for another, not after the unspeakable torment he had just suffered. No. Notre Dame was his home, his sanctuary. His master was right. Within her walls, he did not want for anything, never needed another, but Master, his bells, and of course, the gargoyles. He bristled, grinding his teeth in annoyance and humiliation at how utterly naive and foolish he had been. The outside world was no place for a creature of the shadows like him.

It was this resolve, this single, haunting thought, that propelled him forward, the young blonde in tow behind him, murmuring something soft and unintelligible to him in much too low a tone for him to make out whatever she was trying to say to him.

He closed the front doors behind him, letting them slam shut with such force they rattled in their hinges, the sound truly deafening.

Quasi was smart enough not to look back.


	8. A Sister's Plea

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! I hope you're continuing to enjoy this story! I struggled for a bit between choosing between Madellaine's perspectives and Quasi's, and in the end, decided to go with Madellaine's, as I want Quasi's inner thoughts to remain, for this moment at least, a mystery, though we do get to see what he is thinking/feeling, following the horrific events of the FOF in the next chapter, so I hope you'll stay tuned for that!**

**As always, I don't own any of the characters associated with Walt Disney Properties. The only characters I claim ownership to are the few originals within this story, like Alice, Sophia, Darius, etc. I'm trying to world build on this a little bit while keeping most of the movie the same albeit with a few tweaks here and there so it's not like a carbon copy of the movie. I don't want to change things too* much and make it unrecognizable so it doesn't read like something Disney might come up with**.

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**Chapter Eight: A Sister's Plea**

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**MADELLAINE** did not know what she had been expecting the moment the doors of the illustrious cathedral had closed behind her, the sheer force of the lonesome bell ringer's slam echoing, reverberating off the walls.

She flinched, biting the inside wall of her cheek, running her tongue along the top wall of her teeth, and let out a muffled yelp of surprise as the man, somewhat roughly, shirked away from her in antagonizing hurt and betrayal.

The young blonde let out a shaking sigh as she reached up a hand and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ears, watching the poor humiliated man stumble forward and disappear up the very same stairwell that Judge Frollo had ascended earlier today. Madellaine was torn on following after him, making sure he did nothing further to hurt himself, wanting to help him get cleaned up.

The physical torture, the torment, and anguish he had suffered today at the hands of the Parisian simple townsfolk, no one, not even him, should have had to go throughout, and just the thought sent a surge of anger swelling through her bloodstream, igniting hotter than any dragon fire could ever flame.

The young blonde hearth keep of the Judge's wildly glanced to the left and to the right, searching for any signs of a figure of authority within the church. She breathed a sigh of relief through her flaring nostrils as she spotted what appeared to be a nun, though a rather unorthodox one at that, as the woman in her early fifties sported no habit.

Merely, she opted instead for a set of plain brown robes that looked as though she'd swiped it from a monk, and for all Madellaine de Barreau knew of this older woman, perhaps the nun had.

"I need—oh, excuse me! Sister! Wait for a moment, please, _wait_!" Madellaine called out faintly, cringing, squeezing her eyes shut at how hoarse and weak her voice sounded, her arm outstretched as she watched in dismay as the nun began to ascend the same stairwell that Quasi had just disappeared behind. "I…I…"

She panted, a hand over her side as she gasped for breath, not realizing how dizzy she had felt until now, realizing adrenaline still coursed through her veins and igniting the blood that pumped within her, hotter than dragon fire.

The sister of the church that now stood merely a few paces away from the young blonde furrowed her thin greying brows into a light frown and pursed her lips into a thin line, so thin, that Madellaine swore they disappeared.

"Yes, mademoiselle, what is it? I am afraid I cannot entertain you, the boy needs tending to after _that_ little display, and I would advise you, my child, if you know what is _good_ for you, to _stay_ _away_ from our bell ringer, young mademoiselle, given his…emotionally compromised state at the moment, I do believe he would be quite distressing to be around. I can assure you that the boy means you no harm, he is quite timid and shy, but surely, you can understand what he must be feeling. I do not think he is up to…receiving _company_ at this moment, and I fear what he would attempt to do to you if you were to approach him in his most vulnerable state, mademoiselle. If you would kindly please excuse me, dear, I must go check on him. What happened today is _my_ fault, I _never_ should have convinced him to go. I stood by and did _nothing_ while that poor boy was utterly _humiliated_ ," the sister murmured darkly.

The words that escaped her chest, throat, and lips left her as a low growl, laced with bitterness and shame, her quiet French accent carried no small measure of disgust and anger, as she took a moment to toss her wavy gray hair which fell in soft cascading layers, the tips of her hair ending at just past her shoulders. The sister really _was_ quite pretty, and Madellaine imagined for a moment that the nun chosen another path in life when she was younger, she could have had any choice for a suitor or husband she saw fit.

"No, _wait_! A—a moment of your time, just a moment, Sister," Madellaine begged, unable to keep the note of desperation from seeping into her shy, reserved tones.

She shot out an arm as the nun turned her back on Madellaine, lifting the skirts of her robes and preparing to leave Madellaine behind. She did not know what she hoped to accomplish by this as if she thought grabbing onto the older woman's arm could prevent her leaving, but Madellaine was briefly pleased to see it had the desired effect, for the nun paused, an incredulous look on her face and a scowl on her lips.

Madellaine swallowed nervously past the lump in her throat and summoned the courage to speak.

"You must forgive me for the intrusion, I—I don't mean to interrupt. All I ask is a moment of your time, Sister. Nothing more, and nothing less. My—my name is Madellaine, madam. Madellaine de Barreau, a—and that man that I just helped inside, I—I was h—hoping to speak with him. _Please_ , Sister. That boy is _injured_ , and he needs medical attention immediately. What happened to him was _my_ fault, Sister, a—and I cannot in good conscience let his wounds go untreated. I—I am not afraid of him, madame. _Please_ , let me help him. What happened to him was all my fault, Sister," Madellaine murmured, visibly wincing as the nun's previously unassuming expression clouded over and darkened, her sky-blue eyes darkening until they were almost cerulean in color.

"That boy does not _need_ your help, mademoiselle, he is _my_ charge," the nun sighed, the edges of her normally kind voice clipped and hardened, angered, even, though it did not escape the young blonde's attention that the sister sounded utterly defeated. She certainly looked it, Madellaine thought.

Madellaine nodded, trying to quickly convey to the impatient sister that she understood, though the crushing sense of guilt she felt was engulfing her. No matter what, she had to do what she could in order to help him. Her face flushing a bright salmon pink in color, the young blonde gathered the skirts of her dress and sank into a low curtsy before the sister.

The nun remained unmoved from her perch on the first step of the north bell tower stairwell, though Madellaine swore she saw a faint little smile.

"Please," Madellaine beseeched the nun, wincing as she heard the faltering crack and dip of her voice. "I would not ask this of you if it were not important, Sister. I—I met your church's bell ringer in the square. I have seen for myself how kind he is. I was the one who was near the front of the stage with him. I—I tried to _stop_ him from going up there on the stage, but…I...I wasn't fast enough..."

Madellaine swallowed down hard past the growing lump in her throat as she blinked back salty, briny tears, her vision coming in ebbs and flows now. The young blonde straightened her posture, smoothing the skirts of her dress, and merely proceeded to raise her eyebrows at the nun as her face became quite perplexed and crestfallen.

"I saw what happened outside, mademoiselle." The nun's voice was dangerously low, and quiet, and whatever blood had remained in Madellaine de Barreau's face now drained completely, and she grabbed at the skirts of her gown and took a faltering step backward as the nun stepped off of the first stone step that led up into the winding staircase, though when she spoke again, Madellaine was surprised at the sudden shift in countenance. "You are not the one to apologize for what transpired, my child."

Her voice was defeated, and much more subdued than before. Madellaine blinked owlishly at the pretty nun, her almond-shaped blue eyes widening and becoming round with shock. Her lips parted open slightly to speak, though when Madellaine attempted to address the sister, nothing came.

"Wh—what?" she stammered, looking startled, and feeling quite flustered, though as her gaze flitted towards the dark and unwelcoming stairwell that ascended to one of the bell towers of Notre Dame, her fear returned.

What that poor boy had to be going through, he should not have to suffer it alone, she thought and proceeded to grit her teeth in anger at Frollo. Her master, _our master_ , she thought wildly, should have stopped it sooner. Instead, he allowed the cruelty to continue, to the point where that boy was almost killed on the stage, strangled to death, humiliated beyond belief.

The sister shook her head, allowing a lock of her gray hair to tumble in front of her face like a curtain before sweeping it back with one fell swoop of her thumb. She blearily lifted her head, blue eyes glistening with unshed moisture, wiping away a stray tear as it escaped her lids.

"I did nothing, young mademoiselle. I, along with everyone else within these walls and outside it, saw the horrific display that your master allowed, and I, hopefully with the rest of the others, did not approve, but did not dare speak out against our Judge. But you…" Here, the nun's voice trailed off and she regarded Madellaine with a look akin to admiration and disbelief in her brimming sky-blue eyes. "You, my child, knew that such mistreatment was wrong, an ugly and grave sin, indeed. But…"

The sister paused, toying with a lock of her gray hair and casting a somewhat apprehensive glance up at the stairwell behind her over her shoulder.

"But you are different. You stayed by that boy's side, no matter what would become of you, you apologized to your master, not wanting the boy to take the blame for what happened. The fact that you were willing to step in and take the punishment on his behalf, in my mind, speaks to your judge of character, young mademoiselle. You did not _care_ what happened to you as long as our bell ringer was spared any further torment and humiliation, and I could tell in your eyes when you came in just now, that you do not seem put off by his appearance, for which I am grateful. In fact…" The nun heaved a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping forward slightly as she continued. "I would go as far as to say you two are becoming…quite familiar?" she questioned, biting down on her bottom lip.

There was a sheen, a mischievous, growing twinkle in the older woman's bright blue eyes now. No longer were they burning bright with anger and a smoldering, fathomless rage at seeing the poor bell ringer in such a state.

Though, the nun was smiling, somewhat sadly at Judge Frollo's hearth keep, in such a way that Madellaine was feeling quite flustered, causing the young blonde woman to take another faltering step back, painfully twisting her hands together, feeling her nails dig into the sensitive flesh of her palms, hard enough that she swore she felt the warmth of oozing blood, but she ignored it.

She gritted her teeth, feeling a sheen of sweat begin to throng on her brow as Madellaine's gaze drifted towards the darkened, cold tower stairwell. Madellaine froze, a pang of pity pricking at her heartstrings.

Did he really live up there, all by himself? Aye, but what a lonely, desolate existence.

The young blonde felt her brows furrow into a frown, as she reached up a hand to tuck yet another wisp of her short blonde hair back behind her ear. Her hand remained by her ear, frozen in mid-air, though she did not pull her gaze away from the mysterious tower stairwell. Madellaine tried (and failed!) to imagine what it must be like for that man, Quasimodo, to live alone there.

Up there at the top of the world, with no one for company, no one to talk to, ever. A pang of sympathy rocked her to her core at the unpleasant thought of such a gentle and kind giant like him alone for all of his adult life.

And it was at that moment that Madellaine Renee de Barreau felt something within her give way, a shift as her countenance began to change. Could she—could she _visit_ him? She had promised herself she would attempt to tend to his wounds, to check on him and see how he was doing. She had followed him here into the cathedral to do just that, and she would be damned to the seven hells below upon her death if she allowed herself to return to the Palace of Justice with Captain Phoebus without trying to do what she could for the poor man. It was her fault, what happened, after all…

"No, I—I _couldn't_. He would not want to see me, n—not after that," Madellaine whispered hoarsely, putting a hand over her mouth, and shoving her white-boned knuckles into her mouth as she cast a nervous glance at the stairs.

The young blonde hearth keep tried in vain to silence her thoughts.

"I _could_ though, but what would I even _say_ to him? He—he is hurt," she murmured under her breath, not aware that the nun in front of her was regarding her with a look akin to sympathy, hanging onto her every word.

Madellaine, restless, and unable to sit still, began to nervously pace back and forth, the heels of her brown leather boots making a clicking sound against the black and white checkered tile beneath her feet. Back and forth she went.

The nun heaved a tired-sounding sigh and folded her arms across her chest, tossing her gray hair over her shoulders and shrinking into her robes for as much warmth as the dimly lit cathedral could possibly provide against the chill that wafted in through the double oak front doors any time it opened.

Madellaine had a habit of pacing whenever she was nervous about something or thinking, and she tended to fidget with her fingers, constantly weaving her knuckles in between her fingers as she murmured to herself. She let out a heavy sigh and stopped dead in her tracks, shifting her weight nervously from her left leg, then to her right, and then her left again.

Madellaine's frown deepened, and she bit down on her tongue. After the _horrible_ way, this year's Feast of Fools had ended, what had happened to her new acquaintance, _to Master's ward_ , she thought guiltily, blinking back tears, she could not bloody believe she was even _entertaining_ the thought of this.

The day had been so…so… Madellaine almost growled in frustration as she continued her agitated pacing, raking her fingers through her short blonde hair as she bit her bottom lip in a sense of nervous anticipation at her wild idea.

She could not even find a word to _describe_ how awful and strange and how awfully strange this day was, and how Notre Dame's mysterious bell ringer was admittedly one of the strangest, but the kindest souls she had ever met.

How his bright blue eyes, much like her own, were wide, brimming with a sense of wonder as he had concluded, she would not hurt him. The spark of hope that had ignited briefly, until _she_ had extinguished it.

_La Esmeralda_. At the mere mention of the Romani woman's name even inside her head like this, it caused poor Madellaine's anger to return in full force. It was the dancer's fault, that all of this had happened to that poor man. _She_ did this, not her. If Esmeralda had not pulled the boy up on stage, then…then…none of this would have happened. Madellaine huffed in frustration, biting her knuckles.

As shocking as Quasimodo's appearance was, the moment that the hood of his cloak had been blown backward, she could sense he was kind. That he held no malicious intent towards her. _Not like Ser Frederic had_ , she thought darkly, pursing her lips at the thought of Phoebus's second-in-command.

"Quasi…" she whispered, his most unusual name leaving her lips without any hesitation or thought, which honestly surprised the young girl. She could not seem to shake the image of his brilliant azure eyes from her mind, or his luscious thick tuft of bright ginger hair. She had been briefly tempted to rake her fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as it surely looked, but she hadn't.

To do that would have, of course, been inappropriate.

Madellaine blinked, forcing her mind to return to thoughts of the present as she realized the nun had just posed a question to her that she had missed entirely, and all because she had been thinking of how brilliantly blue the man's eyes were.

Cursing herself under her breath, she blinked again and slowly swiveled her head back around to regard the nun, watching her with her arms folded across her chest, something akin to a playful smirk forming on her pretty face.

"I—I beg your pardon, madame?" Madellaine asked, suddenly feeling quite flustered.

The heat that crept to her cheeks was fiery and incredible, and she felt grateful, at the very least, the other kitchen girls, Sophia, and Collette, were not here to see her embarrassment for themselves. Otherwise, they'd die laughing.

Sister Alice chuckled, waving away the young blonde's formalities with a curt wave of her hand.

"Alice, dear, Alice. No one within these stone walls calls me madame. We are all equal here in Notre Dame's sanctuary. Please. Do call me Alice, child, you'll find that I prefer it." Alice sighed as she took a moment to study the young blonde hearth keep's demeanors, wondering where on God's green earth Judge Frollo could have found himself such a catch.

This girl had an inward sort of intelligence and was very clearly perceptive and in tune with what was going on around her. Alice was quick to recognize the child did not boast about it, as she had seen other women do time and time again, the parishioners that came through Notre Dame's doors to pray.

In her lifetime spent in Notre Dame, Alice Beaumont had only ever encountered one such individual who possessed this certain quality, and she knew if she were to allow the young blonde lass up to the boy's tower, that she would be setting into motion a series of events that could not be undone at all.

_Still_. She had seen the look of pity in the young woman's eyes, suggesting to Alice this woman, this strange material of beauty, Madellaine de Barreau, did not fear Quasimodo, and that, she knew, was good enough for her.

"Do you speak with our bell ringer often, my child?" Alice asked softly.

"Wh— _what_?" Madellaine exclaimed, her face paling in shock, raising her eyebrows as she looked towards Sister Alice in alarm. "I…" she stammered.

Satisfied, the nun's smile deepened as she merely proceeded to look at Judge Frollo's hearth keep with a satisfied smirk, clasping her fingers together. She had, Alice surmised, effectively caught the girl off her guard. Alice allowed a knowing little chuckle to escape her lips as she made a show of preening at her fingernails unnecessarily and picking at a loose thread on her habit that she had effectively stolen from Brother Paul's quarters this morning.

"N—no," Madellaine explained, still feeling quite flustered, her quiet and shy voice a little stilted, as though she'd lost the power of cognizant speech. "Today was the—the first day I've ever met the man, Alice," she breathed.

"Perhaps I could ask of you a small favor, my dear," Sister Alice inquired, unable to resist teasing perhaps what she knew to be the first woman other than herself ever to look upon the boy with no hint of fear or disgust.

Alice turned her back on Madellaine for a moment, causing the young blonde's brows to knit together in confusion, and the look of shock on the girl's face was well worth it, Alice thought, bemused, as she turned around with a basin of medical supplies and a wineskin of red wine in her arms.

"Would you mind being a dear and going up there with me to check on him? The boy seems to have taken a liking to you, from what I could tell, and I would be lying to you, young mademoiselle, if I said that I could not use the help, dear."

"If I…if we…" repeated Madellaine, her already soft voice fading even further as she processed Alice's request, and after a moment or two of this, her blue eyes widened in horror and she squeaked and stumbled back. "Oh, no, Alice, I...I can't! M—Master Frollo, he's going to be _furious_ that I helped him if he finds out, Sister…"

Alice chuckled, already knowing where the girl was going. "Well, I merely was under the impression that, since you too have taken a liking to him, and he to you, that perhaps you would accompany up here," she murmured, her voice as soft as a gentle spring breeze as she lifted the skirts of her robe, jostling the basin of medical supplies underneath her other arm and wincing.

"Oh, but Alice, I could not possibly," Madellaine protested wildly as she grabbed hold of the side of her skirt and stepped forwards towards Alice. "Master Frollo has forbidden me from going up into that stairwell. I am not _allowed_ to go up there. If you need help, perhaps I could find another nun?"

But Alice was already shaking her head no, though her knowing little smile remained as her blue eyes twinkled.

"I am afraid, not, my dear. He tends to become ah…shall we say, quite _perturbed_ in my company, even on a _good_ day, my child. If I were to go up there alone or even in the company of another of my fellow clergy, I am afraid I would simply annoy Quasi. No, child. I think the best bet you and I have of ensuring his wounds are treated and that boy is looked after is if you come with me, young mademoiselle, since you claim not to be afraid of him," Sister Alice finished, fixing her with a rather pointed stare.

Alice let her request hang in the air between them and waited patiently as Madellaine fought and raged war against whatever internal conflict was causing her so much inner turmoil.

Most who stepped through the cathedral doors and inquired after the nature of their sole bell ringer, Alice was ashamed to admit it, merely sought the poor boy out as some sick rite of passage. Young boys, mostly, daring each other to go up into the 'monster's tower for a laugh. To see if they could catch a glimpse of the demon that had been sent to plague the Parisian simple folk for their wrongdoings with their own two eyes.

Alice had, she was ashamed to admit this next part, had conspired with old Archdeacon Luc to see what could be done to quell these surprise visits, and had come to the conclusion that the only manner in dealing with those vicious whelps, those little _brats_ , young boys like Laurent and Josiah, was to spread slander, vicious, untruths of how their redhaired bell ringer's temper was so violent, that the young man would snap their neck if you so much as _looked_ at him the wrong way, and that was _if_ they made up to his tower in the first place.

Most young woman in the young blonde's rather precarious position, Alice knew, would be worried of taking Alice up on her offer out of fear, of what the 'monstrous almost-made' would do to her once she reached the top.

Would she be assaulted? Attacked, left for dead? No one could say for sure, in her mind, though Alice Beaumont sensed that with this particular creature, such thoughts that were causing her great anguish, were not the case.

No. Something else was causing the young woman to become agitated. Noticing that her inner struggles were not going to let up anytime soon, Alice heaved a heavy sigh and attempted to convince the young lass of this one more time, this time in a sincerer manner, losing her previous teasing little lilt.

" _Please_. Let me put it to you this way, young mademoiselle," Alice began, resting her back against the cold stone wall of the cathedral that led to his tower. She sighed, raising her voice slightly, knowing bloody full well the boy was up there and could probably hear the two of them conversing even now. The last thing she wanted was for their presence to come unannounced.

Madellaine swallowed nervously and said nothing in response at first.

Alice took that as her sign to continue. "You would be doing an aging woman an enormous favor, child. And should things go wrong up there, I will bear the brunt of the blame, as what I ask of you now was _my_ idea in the first place. I can promise you that, my dear sweet little child," Alice pressed quietly.

Madellaine let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Th—that is precisely what I am _afraid_ will happen, Alice. Frollo would surely punish the both of us, and I shan't have you in trouble on _my_ account, Sister. If he should punish _anyone_ for what happened to his ward today, I would have him punish _me_ , and _only_ me, Sister Alice."

Raising her eyebrows in alarm, Sister Alice could not help but to scoff in response to the young blonde's comment.

"You are truly something else, my child. To risk your own physical well-being in exchange for our bell ringer's, a man whom you hardly know. It's truly inspiring. And as for your master, Claude? That man does not frighten me. He can spare me the homilies of his pretentious attitude; I _know_ what he is. I can smell a fraud from a mile away," Alice growled, lifting the skirts of her long brown robe in response to the girl's statement, turning her back on the stairwell and motioning for the blonde lass to follow her with a wave of her arm. "Come, girl. If what you say is true, and our bell ringer truly _was_ injured out there, his wounds will need to be treated."

As she slowly ascended the dark stairwell that led up into the boy's desolate and drafty bell towers, Alice could not help but roll her eyes at the girl's concern over what Claude Frollo would do to Alice if he found out.

No _wonder_ the boy had stumbled in through the front doors with such a tormented, anguished look on his face.

His first exposure to the outside world, and it could not have gone more _worse_ , and this girl, this strange blonde, she had the power to tear the man's fragile heart to pieces with just a single statement of overwhelming empathy, something that, until previously, only those in the church regarded their bell ringer with any semblance of compassion. No one here in the church looked upon Quasimodo with contempt. Alice made sure of that, as did old Archdeacon Luc, God bless him.

Alice had doubted whether or not Judge Frollo's hearth keep would help her, but despite Madellaine Barreau's initial hesitancy, after hearing the young woman murmur amongst herself under her breath, Alice did not bother stifling her small smile of victory, knowing the girl could not hear it, as she heard the soft footfalls of the girl's boots trailing behind her as they climbed.

_Still_. A nagging sense of curiosity had piqued Alice's interest in this young blonde and what exactly it was that Judge Frollo's hearth keep wanted of the boy whom she considered very much like a son to her over the years.

The question was out of Alice's mouth before she could stop herself.

" _Do_ forgive an old woman's prying, child," she called out from over her shoulder, smirking a little as the young blonde struggled to keep up. "But what business at the festival exactly did you have today with our bell ringer?"

Sister Alice paused, turning at the waist, and it was a good thing the nun did so, as, at that exact moment, the young blonde let out a terrified squeak and almost slipped off of one of the slick stone steps, no doubt the remnants of water from the boy's boots, caused by the raging storm that had come just now.

Madellaine would have fallen if Alice had not shot out an arm to catch her, righting her firmly by the shoulders, shifting the basin of medical supplies underneath her arm. "I…I merely ran into him by the baker's shop, Sister," Madellaine stammered, feeling somewhat breathless, in awe of how many steps they had to come, just to reach the man's abode. "H—he lives up _here_?"

She cringed at hearing the note of appalled disgust as she turned her head this way and that, the only source of light in this dank stairwell that smelled strangely of wood, stone, and mold, coming from the torches in their sconces on the wall. Recognizing that her voice sounded harsher than she meant to, Madellaine squeaked and quickly dipped her head in submission.

"F—forgive me, I—I did not mean to offend," she apologized.

Alice merely proceeded to give a small sigh and brushed back a lock of gray hair, pausing at the top of the mezzanine that they had reached, where a small wooden door remained closed. "Yes, he does live here. He has been our only bell ringer for the last several years of his life, child." She let out a chuckle as she gave the young blonde's figure an appreciative once-over. "Your age, my dear. How old are you?" she questioned, though she did not want to come across as demanding or like she was prying into the young blonde lass's affairs.

"Twenty, Sister," Madellaine hurriedly offered, quirking her brows at the nun, wondering where she was going with this. "Has he always…" Her voice trailed off and she gesticulated wildly with her hands to her pale face.

" _Yes_ ," Alice replied immediately, the edges of her voice becoming clipped and curt, already knowing where Madellaine was headed. She felt her defenses rise and an uncomfortable warm feeling beginning in the confines of her chest, causing her stomach to churn as a coil in her gut twisted, fully prepared to defend Quasimodo's looks to the young blonde. "He _has_ , dear. He was born that way, I am afraid, but rest assured. If you can look past the contusion over his browbone, which is really the boy's only fault, minus his shoulder, then you will find he is really quite a handsome man. He has a beautiful smile, and the loveliest blue eyes I think I have ever seen in another man," she sighed, thinking of the small hump that rested on the boy's back, just near his shoulder. It was not enough to prevent the boy standing upright, but as a result, it caused poor Quasimodo to walk with a rather odd, lumbering gait.

Despite those faults, the boy was really quite kind and timid, and if you looked closely enough, you could see the shadow of the handsome face underneath his contusion and his thick mop of fiery red hair that had been kissed by the sun at his birth, and Alice had been hoping that one day, maybe, just maybe, he would be fortunate enough to find another friend besides herself, as she was not getting any younger, who would look past his unusual and frightening appearance, and learn to see their church's bell ringer for what he was. A man, and just a man. _Maybe this one will be it_ , Alice thought wildly.

Madellaine blinked, suddenly feeling ashamed and utterly foolish for asking the nun such an intrusive question, though as her lips parted open to speak, the nun was not finished with her speech and didn't give her a chance.

"I could imagine why, upon getting your first good look at him, you would become frightened, dearie, and why you would feel compelled to come to me to speak of it," Alice began hesitantly. "But I can assure you, any unease that you might feel regarding that boy's unfortunate appearance is unfounded. I would even go so far as to say that in all my years here, having met almost everyone who comes to Paris, I _know_ there is not a kinder soul than his. You need not fear anything within our sanctuary's walls, child, _especially_ not _him_."

Her piece said, Alice offered Madellaine what she hoped was a kind smile and turned her back on the young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's.

Madellaine froze as the nun continued up the stairwell without her, crossing the threshold and closing the small wooden door behind her, that led to one of the towers, though in the young blonde's mind, he was behind there.

She did not want to barge into the man's home uninvited, no matter what she had promised Alice. Furrowing her brows into a frown, Madellaine paused, a hand hovering over the knob of the door, biting her lip as she faltered in her indecision. She recollected how the boy had looked at her, shortly before leading her inside the cathedral. How humiliated and disappointed he looked.

Madellaine shivered, proceeding to grit her teeth in shame and clutching herself as it was _freezing_ up here, turning away from the door for a moment, really needing a moment to compose herself.

What had happened to him, was entirely _her_ fault, though she knew sooner or later, she would have to summon the courage, the resolve within herself, and cross this bloody threshold.

She owed it to the man to apologize for her horrendous behavior. Madellaine turned back around to face the small wooden door, cracked, and weathered with the kind of decay that only time brings, and let out a sigh.

The young woman could not get the way he had looked at her out of her mind. The torment and pain-ridden upon his slightly misshapen face, the likes of which Madellaine had never seen before, in a pitiful creature like him.

How _ashamed_ he had looked. Given the way he looked, she understood why Frollo had forbidden the boy from ever leaving his towers.

Madellaine sighed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. " _You can do this_." She whispered it to herself, shooting a silent prayer up to the Heavens, hoping God heard her silent prayer and filled her with newfound strength to apologize.

Before she could lose her inner resolve, Madellaine opened her eyes, taking in a deep breath to steel her nervous, and gingerly turned the doorknob, opening the door, stepping across the threshold that separated the top of the mezzanine from the bell tower stairwell, and gently closing it behind her, and daring to disobey her new master's words for the first time.

And this simple act was about to have major consequences, beyond anything Madellaine could have ever imagined before in her wildest dreams.


	9. Never to Go Out There Again

**A/N: Hello and welcome back for those that are following the story! I hope you're enjoying it so far as much as I'm having fun writing it!**

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**Chapter Nine: Never to Go Out There Again**

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**THE** bell ringer of Notre Dame, from his perch high above one of the rafters, the very same beam that allowed him to glance to his immediate left and overlook the entire city of Paris, pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins.

If he could just curl up into a ball, he would not have to face the harsh reality of his current predicament. He'd be protected from everything around him.

Master Frollo was right.

The outside world held no place for a monster, the demon that he was. He would never go out there again. Not after the horrific events of today. But still, he'd have to learn to live with the consequences of his actions today, with the wretched memories swirling around in his throbbing head, hearing the terrified screams of the simple-minded peasant folk that pounded against his eardrums. _Damn_ him.

Quasi felt his face become rigid, his jaw clamped tightly shut, teeth grinding as he struggled to block out the sounds of the villagers' screams.

There was a scream from deep within that forces its way from his mouth, it is as if his terrified soul has unleashed a demon. All he felt was anger, all the boy felt was that he did not want to ever dare to step foot outside of these stone walls again, at all because then he didn't have to trust anyone, it'll be safer, easier to choose not to stay.

And he knew he was hiding the truth from himself, of how much this is really to do with sadness and the scars that just won't heal. Yet these fists clench and his teeth locked up once the sound is out

_Damn_ his wretched soul to the seven hells below where he _belonged_. Why could he not have been content with his life as it _was_?!

His blue eyes, already red-rimmed and cracked at the irises, though his tears were well spent and puffy from his tears intermingling with that of the rain from outside, squeezed tightly shut to push even more tears out as he buried his face in his gloved hands. He let his head fall down to his knees and curled in on himself.

In the half-light, Quasimodo looked like the shadow he had become. Curled in on himself, he showed no signs of recovering from the emotional trauma anytime soon, much the concern of his gargoyles and the stone saints.

Though they knew not what to do for him, and favored silence as the only apt response, choosing to give their young charge the space he needed.

The desolation he felt was all-consuming. His mind became an icy wasteland, the wind howled in his soul and wrapped icy tentacles around his heart so tightly it almost stopped beating. The grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by his long intakes of the frigid winter air.

Tears began to spill from his helpless eyes, drenching his thick woolen green tunic. The grief came in waves and threatened to consume him entirely. It was his master, for now. He was at the mercy of its whims and at times it bit at him with such ferocity he feared it would leave him an empty shell of a wretch. A broken, pitiful low little whine, more of a whimper, escaped the confines of his chest, throat, and lips, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He just wanted these dark swirling vortexes of his thoughts to _stop_.

No matter what he did, he could hide from his stone gargoyles. Victor, Hugo, and Laverne had taken but one good look at the listlessness in his blue eyes when he had re-entered into the bell tower but did not press him to talk.

But there was _nowhere_ that he could hide from the thoughts in his tormented mind.

They followed him, like a fly that he could not swat, whispering thoughts of malice. The dark, tormenting thoughts that plagued him were accelerating inside his head. For reasons that were unfamiliar to him, he could not seem to tamper down the images of the young blonde mademoiselle he had met in Notre Dame's town square today. _Master's new hearth keep_ , he mused.

_Damnation_. Damn him to the seven hells _below_. He should have never dared to venture beyond his sanctuary. Because of him, Master would punish the girl, of this he was certain, and powerless to help her. Not that she would _want_ his help, he thought bitterly, hating himself immensely. She really _was_ quite pretty. A petite little thing, a good head or two shorter than him. At _least_.

Her serene face, those haunting azure orbs of hers that had looked upon him with no traces of disgust or horror that he could see, with his limited sight. It had been strange. How, for a moment, she had looked at him, as though…as though he were the only man in the town square.

"N—not a _man_ ," he growled angrily, pointing to himself, recalling how Master's sinewy arm would reel back with each blow anytime Quasi grew bold enough to refer to himself as a man. " _Monster_ ," he snarled softly, tugging on his thick woolen green tunic softly, and picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his white long-sleeved undershirt, needing something to distract himself with, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself to think of something else, something more pleasant.

He wanted to think of _her_.

"Madellaine."

The blonde's name left his lips without any sense of hesitation on his part, which surprised him. His neck stung with the heat of the declaration of just her sweet name, or perhaps the burning sensation that stung and sent swells of pain up and down his neck was the aftermath of the humiliation he had endured on the pillory, and he winced, reaching up a hand to rub gingerly at the pale column of his throat, feeling the indentations, the thick rope burns from where one of Master's own soldiers had attempted to strangle him. It _burned_. He drew in a sharp breath that pained his pitiful lungs.

His head ached and throbbed, pounding against his skull until he thought it might very well break free. It seemed to shake his brain and for a moment, Quasi was tempted to crash his skull against one of the wooden beams up here in the rafters in order to get it to stop.

He rose, albeit shakily, balancing carefully on the beam, and with groggy steps, neared his wooden carving table, waiting until he was a few feet away before leaping down from his precarious perch positioned high above the upper mezzanine with surprising nimbleness.

Something his gargoyles always chastised him for, not wanting him to hurt himself, though he had been climbing since he was eleven years old. He knew he would never fall. With somewhat shaking fingers, Quasi reached for the tin flagon of water that rested at the edge of his wooden carving table.

Finding it empty, he cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and murmuring a half-hearted apology for swearing in a House of God, he let the tin flagon fall to the wooden floor by his boots with a loud clatter. And at last, on the other side of his table, was a goblet half full of water. Quasi immediately took hold of it and splashed the cold liquid on his burning face.

The relief was sweet and unimaginable for a moment. Quasi let out a haggard sigh while feeling the burning on his cheeks subside. The beads of water played alongside his two-day growing stubble on his strong jawline, and he winced, recognizing not having shaved in at least three days. Alice did it.

Alice. What she must be feeling! Sighing again, Quasi looked out onto the balustrade of the balcony of his north tower loft, not to see the white snowflakes quay in midair, but to think what he would say to the aging old nun. She would surely blame herself for what had happened to him out there.

And the girl. The young blonde woman. Madellaine. When she had touched his hand in the town square and had not seemed afraid to intertwine his arm with hers and had led him towards the front of the wooden stage platform to watch the festivities, it was as if she had kindled a fiery spark deep in his chest. A pleasant, tingling warmth that was almost unfamiliar to him, but a feeling that he welcomed nonetheless, and cherished it while the moment had last.

And when she had let go of her and their skin parted, it left an overwhelming ache that he did not know what to do about, and almost wanted to throw a childish tantrum, one that Victor, Hugo, and Laverne would scold him for saying.

But he could still _smell_ her, and he traced one of his brown fingerless leather gloves with the pads of his fingers as he brought his hand to his nose. He could still smell her presence, which Quasimodo thought odd.

She smelled of lavender and eucalyptus. The very scent felt like it was flooding his senses. Quasi turned towards the balcony terrace, wanting fresh air, and then his brows furrowed. The strange scent was coming back, causing his nostrils to flare, a stronger wave this time. He turned towards the small wooden door as he glanced down the ledge of the mezzanine that led into his little living loft.

Frowning, he inhaled. It was real, all right. Quasi did not know how it was that he came to have such a strong sense of smell growing up here in this dusty, desolate tower, but he knew by this point in his life not to question it.

The gift only came to him with people's scents, at least the few in his life that he was fortunate enough to interact with. Master Frollo smelled of ink and old parchment papers. Sister Alice smelled of spiced wine and almonds. The Archdeacon Luc smelled of wax from the candles he lit, and of old pinewood.

And then, Quasi heard the door open and Alice's voice rent his silent tower. "Kid?" she called out cautiously, her footsteps coming closer now as she climbed up the wooden tower to his living loft. "I _know_ you're up here, boy."

Quasi inwardly groaned, not wanting to deal with Alice (or anyone else) at the moment. He merely grunted in response, though he recognized that he sounded cold, and he heaved a heavy sigh and poked his head across the top of the mezzanine to silently announce to Alice that he was, in fact, up here.

" _Alice_ ," he murmured half-heartedly under his breath, his cheeks stinging with heat as they flushed, deciding that the stubborn nun set in her ways was not going to be content to stay at the bottom level of his tower.

Quasi let out a low growl under his breath, low enough so that Sister Alice did not hear as he heard the nun gasp and struggle to catch her breath, and begrudgingly he moved to stand at the ladder's ledge, kneeling slightly and extending a gloved hand to help her up. Alice's blue eyes were wide and round.

"Th—thank you," she gasped. "So many…bloody damned _stairs_ ," she murmured, straightening her posture, and turning her head to the side to cough. "Where are there so many stairs, kid?" she muttered under her breath.

Quasi merely proceeded to offer a grunt by way of response, no verbal retort as he turned away from her, biting the inside wall of his cheek angrily.

Notre Dame's bell ringer heard as the aging nun set the basin of medical supplies down at the edge of his carving table, sighing in exasperation as she picked up the empty tin flagon that Quasi had let drop to the floor below.

"I was just coming to speak with you," Alice pressed, a note of caution and trepidation in her kind, quiet tone, taking a cautious half-step towards him. When she sensed that the young charge whom she thought of very much like her own son was not going to respond, she sighed and continued.

"May I, kid?" Sister Alice urged, and it became clear to Quasi from the sudden wavering note in the aging but still quite beautiful nun's tone that Alice Beaumont was a woman who was not used to asking permission and hadn't.

As far as he could tell, this was the first time she had ever asked him to enter into his loft, though he knew her nervousness stemmed from not knowing how he, given what he had experienced today, would respond.

Quasi sighed, carding his gloved hands through his thick tuft of red hair, wincing as they came away sticky, bits of rotten tomatoes sticking to his gloves. "Sure," he murmured after a moment of heavy, uncomfortable silence.

His tenor-like, quiet and reserved voice, the bell ringer was quick to recognize, sounded cold and uninviting, and Quasi visibly cringed, hoping that Alice had not heard it, though he could tell by the dejected way the nun stood waiting, the basin of medical supplies in her arms clutched tightly to her chest, that she had heard it, had seen the tense way that his posture was, and sighed.

"Is there…" he began hesitantly, wringing his gloved hands together and feeling his nails dig into the brown leather hide material of his gloves. "What do you _want_ , Alice?" he managed to ask, hoping he did not come across as sounding demanding or hurt, and he saw Alice shirk away in surprising hurt.

Sister Alice bit her bottom lip, sticking it out in a slight pout, and appeared extremely hesitant for a moment or two, before at last, she found her words. "What happened to you today, kid, was _my_ fault. I shouldn't have…"

But her voice cracked, faltering as the words died in her throat, and she ducked her head in shame, allowing a lock of her gray hair to fall in front of her face like a curtain, and Quasimodo swore that he heard the aging nun whimper.

Quasi felt his brows knit together in a slight frown as he watched Alice turn towards something, looking at what appeared to be the closed wooden door, and by the time she turned back around him, he was momentarily surprised by the disappointed look in her shining blue eyes, which were looking at him with such grief and self-loathing that Quasi could hardly bear to see it.

"Alice," he murmured, closing the gap of space between them, seeing how badly the small wooden bowl in her hands was shaking so badly, gingerly lifting it from her arms and wrapping his strong arms around the nun's middle. "It is all right," he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "I am… _fine_."

_Lies_ , the demonic voices, that snakelike voice that taunted him at the back of his mind, that sounded entirely too much like Master Frollo's droll baritone voice for his comfort. _You're far from fine and you know this_.

" _No_. You're _not_ ," Alice barked, her tone clipped and hard. "You are _injured_ , and you need to let us _help_ you," she commanded, a hint of steel in her normally quiet and reserved voice that told Quasi he had to listen to her.

"'Us?'" Quasi asked, feeling a sinking feeling began to churn at the pit of his swooping stomach, hating the tightening, constricting feeling in his chest.

"The—the child, the blonde lass that helped you inside, dear. She's here with me, too but she has yet to—" Though Alice was cut off at the sound of the door that led to his bell tower opened, and Quasi froze dead in his tracks.

The door that led to his bell tower, the same that he had seen a few hundred times and he was about to see it again, his curiosity piqued, as both he and Alice's heads whiplashed sharply up and looked to their immediate left.

Quasi remained unstirred, his feet in his boots felt like stone. Like a deer caught in the sights of an arrow, and unable to move at all. And then he heard the girl's shaky voice and hearing the soft susurrations of her sweet and timid tones as her voice wafted up to his bell tower almost made the man jump.

Master Frollo's new hearth keep, Madellaine, the girl he had been thinking of not even a breath or two ago until Alice had arrived in his tower, was just outside the half-opened door that led to the lower level of the mezzanine.

All she would have to do is climb the ladder. She would _see_ him.

A sheen of perspiration started to throng upon his brow, beads of sweat starting to drip down his temples and breath hitched in his throat, a relatively poor attempt to calm himself down, and he felt a stab of a fear prick at his heart.

Biting his tongue in frustration and fear, he thought he was getting used to the constant swallowing of nothing, though he turned his head to the side and spat out a mouthful of blood, tasting the metallic tang of iron on his palate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alice crinkle her nose in disgust at the gesture, pulling a face though she said nothing.

At last, Alice managed to find her voice, albeit shaky. "I _really_ think that you'll want to hear what we have to say, dear. What happened to you was a tragedy, but you _cannot_ let this get you down, kid. Pick yourself back up and quit feeling _sorry_ for yourself, love. Things _will_ get better. _Listen_ to me. I think you'll want to hear it, Quasimodo," she growled, a note of steel in her voice.

The bitter words that were laced in his voice tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could process what was happening and Quasi had a chance to stop himself.

"I think I _won't_ , Alice," he grumbled, huffing in frustration, folding his arms across his chest, and turning away sharply from her in response. He swore he heard the nun growl in frustration with the effort to restrain her temper, and he heard Alice slam down the bowl of medical supplies on his carving table, a temporary release of her frustrations, but he didn't care.

Alice groaned in agitation. "Fine. I'll…leave you alone, then…"

Alice's tone was disappointed, though as she ascended the stairwell, his ears perked up at the sound of the young blonde woman's quiet, shy voice.

"Alice? H—hello? Is anyone here? Did I—did I lose you?" came Madellaine's voice, sounding timid and uncertain, fearful, even, he guessed, and he heard the young woman draw in a sharp breath of frigid cold air, courtesy of his drafty tower loft that was always cold up here, especially in the winter.

As if his legs now had their own minds, _damn_ them, they led him towards the sound of her sweet voice, towards the edge of the mezzanine, his chest hardly pumping, though his heartbeats thrummed so damned audibly loud in his chest, threatening to break free, he was surprised the women didn't hear. Quasi did not _want_ to see her, he _knew_ this. It was _useless_.

He did not want Master Frollo's little slip of a hearth keep seeing him in a state like this. Though his need, it would seem, was _not_ about to be assuaged, because Alice spoke to the girl in lowly tones, damn her to the seven hells below.

"He's up there, my dear, but good luck in getting him to cooperate. May God's light shine upon you and you have better success than I, my dear," he heard Alice grumble darkly under her breath, a comment which made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Quasimodo silently seethed.

He was angry with Alice, yes, but fearful of _her_ seeing him again.

"Oh, but I need…excuse me!"

Quasi froze, listening to Madellaine's shy and sweet voice that sounded like a piece of sweet music to his ears, almost thinking himself unworthy to hear such a sweet, musical voice such as hers, figuring she was responding to Sister Alice quitting the scene of his tower, as the frustrated nun gathered the skirts of her robe to avoid tripping, and heading down the north bell tower stairwell without a word to Madellaine, unable to take further notice of her, murmuring something inaudible under her breath.

Quasi heard the young blonde lass sigh in immense disappointment, and the heels of her boots turning away, about to follow the nun's lead and disappear back down the stone stairwell to the main level of the church's sanctuary, but then her footsteps froze, and Quasimodo knew she paused.

She might have seen the shadow from high above her move, his movements as he dared to creep close to the ledge of the platform as possible. The girl might have seen him, might be struck with a sudden curiosity.

_Don't. Don't come up. Just...don't_. Quasi squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to God if He would have the grace to listen to a monster's prayer such as his. He heard the young blonde hearth keep's soft footsteps, a murmured curse under her breath that almost made him smile, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards slightly.

But God, it would seem, had other plans in mind for Quasi, as he heard her soft footsteps, the heels of her brown leather boots reverberating on the rungs of the ladder as she climbed it, coming even closer. He froze, panicked.

If he moved to hide in the rafters above, she would know he was here, and she had not seemed afraid of him earlier, and he figured his best course of action was, as unsavory as it was, for him to remain put right where he stood.

_Damn_. _Damnation and to the seven hells below_ , he swore, grinding his teeth in anticipation, feeling his gloved hands clench and unclench, shaking violently at his sides, wondering if this would be the moment the lass from earlier would _truly_ get a good look at him, in his natural element, this place of shadow and a truly desolate existence, and she would run from him.

Everything up here was laced with the biting feeling of cold. The bitter winter air of January hung in his spacious bell tower lofts, the long, dark shadows slinking along the walls, the only source of light a few lighted candles.

Quasi drew in a sharp breath that pained his ribcage. It stung and sent swells of pains from where the rope had cut into his skin, and he instinctively felt one of his gloved hands wander to the pale column of his bruised throat.

It hurt as hell.

His body felt fatigued and weak from what had transpired to him out there, and he wished for nothing more than to hide from the young blonde hearth keep of Master's that was currently climbing his tower's ladder to the top level of the mezzanine, to his living loft.

Quasi glanced out of the corner of his one good eye as the soft, amber candlelight danced over his intimidating and slightly misshapen body, sighing. There was no stopping the storm that was about to come. He instinctively felt his posture stiffen and straighten, his hands balling into fists, shaking violently, and he bit his tongue hard enough that he drew blood.

He had cared so damned bloody much about venturing outside, just once in his adult life, not caring if he was old and bent, as long as he had spent just one day out there, to see what his precious city of Paris had to offer him. And it had _betrayed_ him. The townspeople had _laughed_ at him, pelted him with bits of rotten food, and had attempted to strangle him to his death.

Quasi took a heavily gloved hand and dragged it down alongside his face in anguish, trying to rid himself of the worst of the painful memories and anguish, grinding his teeth in anguish.

_Seven hells_ , he pleaded. _Save me this torment. Don't. Do not. Don't come up_ , he silently pleaded with the young woman.

The quietness in his tower, save for the noise of his ragged, labored breathing and the young blonde lass climbing the rungs of his ladder was almost deafening, filling his ears with a strange, fatigued ringing noise.

The attentive young bell ringer scanned the top of the ladder with an apprehensive eye, letting out a heavy sigh, raking his fingers through his thick tuft of fiery red hair, knowing full well the uneven, jittery last cast from the few lit candles that Alice had brought up from downstairs to make his tower more inviting and warmly illuminated his slightly misshapen body in such a way that it made the poor man look even more monstrous than he knew himself to be.

_It's fine. You're fine. You're going to be_ , his conscience spoke to him, this time, it was Laverne's voice, reaching him somehow, though a quick glance out of the corner of his eyes told Quasi his stone companions were utterly still.

No. No. Everything was _not_ fine! Why was _she_ here?! She—she should not be up here. _Damn you Alice_ , he thought, swearing under his breath angrily.

Quasi froze, feeling rooted to his spot as he saw the familiar thick tuft of her straw-colored golden blonde hair, as bright as the sun, come into view over the ledge of the upper level of the mezzanine, and he let out a little whine.

Though he had only the one interaction with the girl thus far, that was _well_ beside the point. As he heard the girl grumble under her breath, mumbling something about so many bloody stairs that almost made him smile, or would have if the circumstances were not so damned bloody dire for him, he knew it was but a half-second away and his solitude would be interrupted.

Quasimodo swallowed and stepped back, ducking behind a wooden pillar beam, not wanting to allow himself to be seen, anticipating what came next. And he was bloody right. The young blonde hearth keep of Master Frollo's poked her head over the top of the ledge, the yellow of her hair the first thing the bell ringer saw with his wretched sight.

He often wondered looking down at the city from the top of the world up here why women wasted time on their hair, but even as short as this woman's hair was, he thought it suited her, then.

It was beautiful, but everything about Master's servant was. She wore the same dark blue gown, its hem, long flared sleeves, and collar embroidered with crisscrossing gold thread, suggesting she was otherwise a noblewoman.

The young woman glanced around, sky-blue eyes wide and round in awe, with an expression flitting in her eyes that Quasi could not quite identify, and then she noticed the basin of medical supplies Sister Alice had left behind.

Madellaine de Barreau took a cautious few steps forward towards his carving table, her curiosity piqued, though she dared not lift the tarp which covered his wooden scale model of Notre Dame de Paris and the town below.

He saw her from his place in the shadows pick up the wineskin of wine, probably disgusted with his tower, possibly in awe, but he did not know which. Quasi was so engrossed in thinking about this new she-stranger in his home and in watching her cautious movements that he stepped forward, cursing himself the moment the sole of his boot stepped on a loud floorboard.

Madellaine was startled at the heavy creaking noise and whirled around on the heel of her boot to see who it was, a horrified look on her face. He saw the blood drain from her face, making her even paler.

"H—how nice of you to visit me, m—mademoiselle," Quasi heard himself speak in a voice that did not quite sound like his, low and husky, hoarse, from where the noose of the length of rope had wound its way around his throat and squeezed. _Hard_.

He inclined his head from his place, shrouded in the darkness, though he knew she did not see it. However unfamiliar he was around girls, Master Frollo had taught him well in terms of manners.

Madellaine pursed her lips into a thin, rigid line and made a quick scan of the area where his tenor-like, musical voice had originated from, and for a moment, the redhaired bell ringer felt quite self-conscious all of a sudden, and he tried to convince himself that Alice had sent her up here for a damn reason.

Though what that reason or reasons might be, only the girl knew.

"I—I came to check on you, monsieur. You're _hurt_ , and you require medical attention if you will allow me to help. What happened to you was m— _my_ fault. I—I never should have let…" But her voice cracked, and her words failed her as she allowed her voice to trail off. Her voice was almost a whisper.

Quasi felt certain that if he had not already been hanging onto the young hearth keep's every word, that he was sure he would have missed it, as she seemed hardly able to speak as she took in the man's tower for herself.

"Um…." stammered Quasi as his nervousness threatened to implode, feeling grateful at least, that he was shrouded in darkness so the girl could not see the complete and utter fool he was making of himself. "I—I d—didn't realize that you, er…would be here," he murmured, and he clenched his teeth in ire.

As far as bad days and situations went, Quasi thought angrily. This by far, had to be the most awkward in his entire adult life he had ever faced.


	10. Let Me Help You

**Hi all and welcome back! Hope you're enjoying it!  
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**Chapter Ten: Let Me Help You**

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**MADELLAINE** blinked as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of what she could presume was the man's bell tower. Only shadows and the occasional glimmering flicker of a candle could be heard. It had been hard to get a proper look at this strange new atmosphere upon first opening the wooden door to the poor isolated bell ringer's tower, as the place had a rather…peculiar sense of structure, unlike anything she had ever seen before in her life.

"I…" she stammered, knowing full well Quasimodo was waiting for her to answer him, to provide an explanation as to why Sister Alice had sent her up here.

But the words died upon her tongue before her brain could order their release as her gaze wandered upward, away from the misshapen shadow of the cathedral's sole bell ringer, though she swore the man's brilliant blue eyes were angered, burning bright as midnight torches, mere pinpricks from his place in the shadows, and she swallowed hard.

She could only pray that the man was not angry with her behavior towards _him_.

The young blonde hearth keep gulped again to try to tamper down her nervousness, hating that, even after the man's gentle behavior towards her in the town square earlier, she still harbored a twinge of caution towards this poor young man.

Madellaine knew it was merely stemming from the vicious nature of the several horrible rumors she had been told of 'monstrous bell ringer' who lived all alone up here.

She swiveled her head this way and that, attempting to take it all in. "Oh! Wh—what an amazing place," she breathed, awestruck at the simplistic, yet Gothic beauty of it.

The bell ringer's tower was more of a living space, a loft if you will. Hundreds of nick-nacks of various assortments littered a few shelves or tucked away in various nooks and crannies of the loft.

On one hand, it was beautiful and mysterious in its own right, with various wooden rafter beams sticking out here and there, there was a rectangular wooden table, just across from the ladder that she had climbed up on moments ago, framed by a few discarded statues, a rather large marble depiction of the head of Moses was the first to catch Madellaine's eye and a stack of shelves to her right.

And then, the tinkling of what sounded like wind chimes caused the young blonde's ears to perk up at the noise, and Madellaine felt her posture straighten up as she turned on the heel of her boot and to her immediate left, recognizing the noise was the gentle clanking of brilliant shards of multicolored stained glass pieces hung on strings above the man's carving table, a makeshift chandelier of sorts to provide color and light.

The green tarp covering the length of the wooden table piqued her curiosity, and against her better judgment, Madellaine gingerly lifted the tarp for a closer look.

"Wow," she breathed, immediately feeling her lips tug upwards at the edges of her mouth, smiling at the wonderful craftsmanship she saw. An entire wooden scale model of Notre Dame de Paris and the village in the town square below.

Intrigued, she picked up a wooden figurine of the baker, carved to such exquisite perfection, the wood so smooth that she knew she would not get a splinter, and she set it down quickly.

If she didn't know any better, her first impression of the lonesome and forlorn man's bell tower loft, this simplistic living abode, was that it looked rather grotesque.

It was not exactly what she had imagined what the man's home might have looked like, had she not dared to disobey Master Frollo's orders and come up here of her own volition, with a little encouragement from that nun, Alice de Beaumont, she knew.

As she continued to gaze around the man's home in awe, at a loss for words, Madellaine also noted that, overall, as much as she found the bell ringer's tower to be somewhat disturbing in the sense of how lonely and desolate it was up here, but she could not quite exactly put her finger on why. It seemed…otherworldly.

Magical, almost, and all that entailed with such a description, though this place was not without its comforts. Though she could tell, based on the various trinkets that littered his abode, that he had done what he could in order to make such a desolate, cold space feel like his home.

 _Home_. A pang of guilt and sadness washed over the young blonde, threatening to engulf her completely, and she felt the beginnings of hot tears marring her vision. Blinking once as Madellaine looked above her head, giving her head a curt little shake in order to rid the corners of the lids of her eyes of their sudden tears, at the beams that crisscrossed every which way she could think of, and the massive proud iron and brass bells of Notre Dame, dozens of them in various sizes, hung above her, the lengths of their ropes dangling above her head like snakes on a vine. She heard the man make a noise.

Biting down on hard on the inside wall of her cheek, Madellaine swore and whirled around on the heel of her boot, cursing herself. _Fool! Alice sent you up here for a reason. You're here to check his injuries, make sure he isn't going to do anything too rash_.

"Wh—why are you here, m—milady?" the man's wonderful voice whispered, shattering the otherwise silent air up here in the man's bell towers, save for the occasional cooing of a couple of pigeons nesting and roosting in the rafters above Madellaine's head.

Madellaine felt her sky-blue eyes widen slightly at the sound of that magnificent voice resonating through all corners of the man's makeshift tower loft. How timid he sounded. It struck her as quite odd that this man, Quasimodo, could be so afraid of her.

 _Idiot_! The dark, demonic voices at the back of her head chastised her, and Madellaine let out a tiny squeak and almost jumped at the abrasiveness of the voices. _You saw what happened to that poor boy out there today. It's only natural he'd be skittish_ …

"Quasimodo?" She whispered his name, taking a small step forward, the skirts of her dress swaying ever so slightly with the movements. She heard it again, a broken muffled whining noise that could only be coming from the man she had met today.

A pitiful whimpering, and without even having to think on it, Madellaine seized the small wooden bowl bearing the bandages and the wineskin of red wine Alice had managed to procure from somewhere, no doubt the cathedral's personal food stores with which to treat the poor man's injuries, and she was reminded of her trek up the stairwell.

"Y—Yes, y—you remembered my name," he breathed, sounding awestruck. He was stuttering less now, Madellaine noticed, so that had to be a good sign if nothing else.

Madellaine nodded, watching as the dim candlelight flickered and danced, all except where Quasimodo was hiding, concealed behind a beam, shrouded in darkness. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves.

"Monsieur, Alice sent me here to tend your wounds." When the man did not immediately respond, she tried again. "Allow me."

The young blonde hearth keep did not know exactly what she had been expecting, but unbridled fear and nervousness did not truthfully rank high on her list of emotional reactions she expected the redhaired bell ringer of Notre Dame to display.

Though that was exactly what happened, knowing that what she was not in so many words asking of him, for the man to reveal himself to her for the second time in one day was a lot of pressure, though Madellaine silently resolved she would not leave this tower, as strange as this loft might be until she had seen his wounds were tended to.

She simply could not. She had promised Alice she would help him, and after the disastrous events that led to his humiliation up on that pillory for all of Paris to see, anything she could do to help him, she would, as she blamed herself for his torment.

Someone had to make up for a lifetime of hurt and suffering, and Madellaine figured it could start with her, though she was not prepared for the whimpering that followed as she witnessed the man come forth from the shadows and into the garish light.

Blood, thick, crimson, and sticky every which way trickled down his face, onto the wooden floorboards in small crimson puddles at the edge of his brown leather boots. Madellaine drew in a sharp breath of cold frigid air that pained her lungs. She had known to be hurt, but outside, his wounds did not seem quite so bad like _this_.

No. The man's hurts were much worse than she had anticipated. Much, much worse, and he was going to require a firm and steady hand.

She could not seem to process what in the seven hells she was seeing. Madellaine remained still at the horrific display in front of her and inhaled sharply. The young woman couldn't understand what she was seeing. At first, Madellaine wondered if this was another nightmare. That this was not the man she had met in the town square this afternoon. Not the kind, gentle man she had introduced herself to. The person standing on the floor of the bell tower loft of Notre Dame just bloody had to be someone else.

But finally, the realization set in Madellaine's bones and it chilled her. This was no nightmare. This was real life. Quasi was hurting, suffering, and like it or not, despite their rocky start, she had to help this man.

Madellaine heard herself let out a mindless exhale and poor Quasi stiffened, and the blonde knew the redhaired bell ringer heard her.

The young blonde bit the wall of her cheek, knowing full well she was in possible danger of Quasi lashing out at her and losing his temper with her. Madellaine struggled with the thought of speaking and announcing why she had come to check on him, or just turning and running. Madellaine drew in a breath and held it, waiting, in a frantic state of mind, her stance ready to bolt in case things turned ugly.

She hoped they didn't. Quasi's arm had been raised, his pale knuckles were bone-white with the grip that he held, though his fist shook, and he did not let go. His breathing was shallow, he was panting heavily, and his gaze dazed.

Madellaine could hear the faint, barely audible sound of small, restrained cries trapped in her new friend's throat, as he gasped and struggled for breath, no doubt breathing was difficult for him, given she could see the markings the rope restraints had made when the people had made a mockery of him earlier and humiliated the poor boy, and her stomach gave a painful lurch.

Neither one made any attempt to move, staying put in their tense and rigid postures for what felt like an eternity, neither one speaking nor moving.

Finally, Quasi slowly lowered his arm and met Madellaine's horrified gaze with a glower that seemed uncharacteristically violent of the gentle giant she had met in the square, and she knew he did not fully trust her.

Perhaps he thought she was here to mock him, to torment him further. But she saw tears trapped within the man's light blue orbs.

Madellaine, after a long silence, found her voice, though she barely managed to get the question out due to the halting of air that needed to come into her lungs. Because she kept forgetting how to bloody breathe. How could she?!

"Q—Quasi? Wh—what are you doing? You need to sit down. You're injured, you're bleeding all over, and you need medical help. You _need_ to let me help you," Madellaine whispered hoarsely, her voice meek and subdued, though genuine shock was laced throughout it.

Quasi did not answer Madellaine. He merely stared across the room at her, with those damned damp, angry, unreadable sky-blue eyes that were darkening, almost cerulean in color the more upset he became at her uninvited presence in his tower loft, were red-rimmed and cracked. The most dangerous stare in her experience so far in his company.

Madellaine swallowed down nervously past the growing lump in her throat, amazed she could even find her voice at all. "Tell me, please." She spoke with persistence in her words, though she knew her voice truly lacked conviction.

When Quasi finally did speak to her, Quasi turned his head away in shame, ducking his head. His response was short, his voice disconnected, angry.

"You need to _leave_ , Madellaine. I...I am not...s...safe to be around. I would only hurt you." His voice was clipped and hardened.

Anger rose within Madellaine at her new friend's persistent stubbornness against her wanting to help him in his injured state and replied just as fast as he did.

" _No_." She left her response hanging in the air between them, and waited with a held breath, wondering if she was making a big damn mistake.

Madellaine squeezed her eyes tightly shut as suddenly, a loud but slow, threatening, and impatient exhale was heard vacating through Quasi's nose. She did not even have to look to imagine his nostrils flaring like that of an angry bull.

Madellaine began to question coming here, wondering if she had indeed made a mistake in miscalculating her place in this man's life.

Quasi, though he offered no verbal retort, clumsily staggered backward and Madellaine instinctively backed up, her free hand groping behind her for something to steady herself with, until her palm came across the wooden of a small side table, and she clutched wildly onto it for support. But something unfamiliar kept her planted in her spot, unstirred.

She did not know what had happened to him upon that pillory, exactly, as she could not bear to watch all of what happened, but Madellaine knew she could not leave her partner alone like this, on the brink of death's doorstep. Madellaine glanced quickly from his heavily scarred face to his clenched fist and how badly it was shaking, and then his eyes.

They were filled with a raw shame and fury she had never seen before, and Madellaine swore she heard Quasi let out a muffled whimper from the back of his throat, almost a whine, like when a dog was kicked by its master.

"Excuse me?" Quasi spoke up, at last, his voice calm and low. She could tell he was trying to be polite towards her and failing miserably. "What did you just say to me, mademoiselle?" he asked, as though he had misheard her when he had not.

The menacing tone that left her new friend's lips was _not_ his voice. Much too flat and emotionless, not the normal kind tone she had come to respect.

Madellaine decided to stand her ground, feeling the heels of her boots dig into the hardwood floor, to physically give her the courage as well as mentally.

"I said no. You need help. I will not leave." She repeated, her answer firm, her voice louder to punctuate her unwillingness to comply with Quasi's demand that she leaves.

She could not. _Would_ not. Not when her new friend was suffering and in such a bad state physically. Madellaine visibly winced, watching in nervous silence as Quasi narrowed his eyes. The man clenched his jaw in anger and took a fumbling step towards her. Madellaine flinched, stepping back a few paces at the cathedral's bell ringer's sudden lunge.

Like a wolf lunging for its prey in the shadows. Madellaine knew she did not want to show Quasi how afraid of him at the moment that she was. She knew it would only feed his temper and hot embarrassment at having been discovered in such a precarious and questioning position, really.

Madellaine steeled herself as she took a cautious step forward, deciding the best case in this regard was to show him she meant no harm. That she was _not_ , in fact, like every other cruel soul in Paris. Carefully, with somewhat shaking fingers, she did just that as she slowly raised her hands and brought them in front of her and sighed.

Her abrupt brazenness as she slowly raised her hands in a sign of cautious surrender, caused Quasi to lose his ironclad grip on his carving table he'd been clutching onto for support, causing one of the wooden figurines to fall off the corner of the table, and it clattered to the floor near his bare and bleeding feet, louder than either of them would have liked, and both jumped at the noise as wood met wood as his carving fell.

It had not escaped Madellaine's attention, and instead of retaliating against her strange behavior, Madellaine closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, allowing her almost physically overwhelming need to help him take over.

In the process, it washed away the dozens of other questions burning at the edge of her tongue just begging to be asked of the church's lonesome bell ringer, though there would be time enough for that later. But right now, she needed to help Quasi.

"Quasi, please don't push me away. Let me _help_ you," Madellaine begged quietly, reaching out her hand towards the tormented young man, who jerked away from her.

He curled in on himself, and it did not take an intellectual genius like Judge Frollo to be present in the room with them for Madellaine to tell Quasi was distraught, in pain, and losing entirely too much blood to be healthy right now.

"I—I don't _need_ your help! I—I'm dangerous, nothing but a monster, Madellaine, you need to stay _away_ from me!" Quasi ordered, his voice escaping his lips as a low bark. The anxiety quickly consumed his anger as she carefully approached.

Madellaine tried again. "You're _hurt_ , Quasi. I—I don't care how it happened or when, but at least allow me to help you, Quasi. Please. Let me." She received a distrusting little snarl from Quasi in return as the edges of his lips curled upward, and Madellaine was briefly reminded of a misbehaving dog that had been backed into a corner and saw no other way out of his predicament but to snarl at her.

"Let me—" Madellaine started to say, but he hollered, cutting her off.

"I don't need your help! **LEAVE**!"

His breathing became even more uneven as Quasi started to sway on the spot where he stood, glowering at her.

Madellaine cringed at the man's outburst, but stayed motionless, wanting to see what Quasi would do. At this point, she was about a few feet away from Quasi and could see plainly for herself with her own two eyes just how bad off of a condition her poor new friend was in. His thick tuft of fiery ginger hair that looked as though it had been kissed by the sun was in wild disarray from sweat, matted, and tangled with congealed blood that was drying, and clumps what looked like bits of rotten tomatoes were stuck in his hair.

His already pale skin was practically bone-white and pallid, giving him the look of a corpse. His light blue eyes were bloodshot, red, and exhausted. Madellaine knew just by looking at how emaciated Quasi was, that he had not any sleep, and by how he swayed on the spot, practically, she wondered if he hadn't eaten much today.

Or the last several days, come to think of it, leading up to this moment.

Finally, Quasi's legs buckled beneath him as the last of his strength was sapped, and he fell to his knees, seemingly losing the will to argue with her further, for which she was silently grateful, and relieved she wouldn't have to call the Archdeacon or another clergyman for help.

Madellaine took advantage of the sudden opportunity to catch Quasi as best as she possibly could, holding up upright in an awkward sort of a hug and for once, Quasi did not fight against her at the close proximity. Madellaine knew Quasi was too weak to do so.

Madellaine grunted through gritted teeth, lifting her partner to a standing, upright position, using the strength of her legs and her shoulders, and finally, she was able to throw one of his arms around her neck and gingerly guided him back towards a chair nearby.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, she set Quasi on the edge of the chair, and almost the second he touched it, his entire body went limp. Quasi barely managed to keep his head up, but the rest of him was debatable, as his body swayed so damned bloody much, Madellaine was forced to place one of her hands on the man's scarred shoulders to try to steady him. Madellaine leaned over, trying to look into the man's unfocused blue eyes. Quasi's eyelids became heavy as they started to close.

"Oh, damn…" She did not swear lightly, and Madellaine snapped her fingers in his face.

He blinked rapidly, startled by the sudden gesture from Madellaine.

"Quasi?! Hey! Come on! Don't go to sleep on me, Quasi!"

It was difficult for Quasi to remain awake and cognizant of his dark surroundings. Madellaine snapped her fingers in his face a second and third time, and she breathed a sigh of relief as Quasi opened his eyes and looked at her coherently enough to instruct him.

"Quasi, I—I need you to help me, okay? There isn't any other way I can take a look at your injuries unless you stay awake."

Quasi offered Madellaine a tiny nod, though when he tried, Quasi lost his balance and practically bowled poor Madellaine over as the man fell into her arms. She caught him, wrapped her arms around his neck to avoid accidentally grazing against the wounds of near his neck, those vicious looking rope burns that look like they stung and hurt like hell.

With a horrified stare, she dared to peek over the man's shoulder and saw that crimson blood was starting to stain the back of his chair. He was losing a lot of blood and Madellaine was not bloody prepared for this.

She had little experience in this kind of thing, and though this wouldn't be the first time Madellaine had dressed wounds before, and she was quite resourceful as a young woman, or at least, she liked to think she was. She just _had_ to help in any way that she could.

Quasi drooped his head, letting it rest at the crook of her neck, totally unable to move and completely at Madellaine's mercy and her whims. She sighed. After a moment or two in silence, she felt dampness soak the front of her dress.

"What…?" she murmured lowly under her breath, moving her head just a tad as she pulled back slightly to study Quasi's tear-filled light sky-blue, bewitching eyes.

Quasi, in times when he was not feeling well, always struck Madellaine as calm and composed, and to see the man in such a state like this, well, it frightened her and intensified her feelings of uncertainty. She didn't know what to do.

So, Madellaine did the only thing that she could think of in this second.

She comforted her new friend. Madellaine knew allowing her panic to take over would only make things worse for Quasi, and she did not want that. Madellaine proceeded to run her fingers through his thick, soft hair soothingly, ending her gentle stroking at the base of Quasi's neck, where the hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, short, and prickly against her skin. The young blonde repeated this process a few more times until she heard a helpless, half-choked sob finally escaped his cracked and bleeding lips.

"It's all right… it is over now. You are safe with me," Madellaine murmured her words into Quasi's hair, trying her best to reassure her new friend that things were going to be okay, no matter what. She hugged Quasi to her body for a short time until he calmed down.

The way Quasi was behaving, seeming to take comfort in her arms, reminded Madellaine of a scared lost kid, nothing like the man that she knew. Then, it hit her, and Madellaine felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. The truth was right in front of her.

The man's defensive shield was down, and Madellaine understood why Quasi had acted as he had towards her earlier, so cold and aloof. He was afraid of her. Of Frollo.

Master Frollo, the man is as close to him as a father, she thought, a chill prickling her skin. Quasi, right now, in his incredibly vulnerable state was prone to hurt himself, given the immense humiliation he had suffered today up on that stage. Madellaine knew a little thing or two about that herself. When pride would get the better of her, and she didn't want to let anyone in.

It was a state Madellaine knew Quasi did not want anyone else to see. But it no longer mattered to her.

This man, like it or not, was hurt, suffering, and she just wanted to heal his wounds, to talk with the man more. Maybe, just maybe, then, through this act of selflessness, Quasi would open up to her and decide to confide in her and start trusting her as a friend.

Madellaine could only hope that, in time, if she were to do this for him, to stay by his side while he healed, that Quasi would learn to trust her. Judging by what she had walked in on, things between them needed to change.

And soon.


	11. Friends

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! I hope you're enjoying the story so far! As usual, I don't own any of the characters associated with Walt Disney Properties, merely a few originals sprinkled here and there.**

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**Chapter Eleven: Friends**

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**THE** gargoyles, Victor, Hugo, and Laverne, lurked in the shadows, fearful of the light of the sun, and of being discovered by the young blonde lass that had now draped her arm over that of their young charge's, and was helping poor Quasi towards a spare chair, no doubt to tend to his wounds, the three stone figures feeling grateful, at least, that the Judge was not here to see this.

Laverne especially hated the Judge, _loathed_ him, even. She hated those wicked grey eyes, flashing all the time rivaling that of a finely polished suit of armor, those strands of his gray but luscious hair, the vision of his fair skin, the ripples of his biceps beneath his flowing black robes that billowed with his movements.

A handsome, refined older gentleman, but she still hated him so very much. Because Judge Claude Frollo was a man who instilled fear into Quasimodo's heart, and moreover, the boy could do nothing but feel entrapped in a web of sadness.

The boy to Judge Frollo throughout the years quickly became a disappointment.

It was no secret amongst the three of them that Claude firmly believed he should have killed his brother's boy and carried the babe into the sea to drown him, let the waves wash away the screaming wretch when it had been left on Notre Dame's doorstep. Unfortunately, Quasimodo's father, Jehan Frollo himself, was dead himself.

And Judge Frollo was a many of many things, but a Kinslayer he was not. The gargoyles were broken out of their musings at the sound of the young blonde lass's voice, sweet and shy, quiet, timid even, as it reached their eardrums, causing their pointed ears to perk up at the noise.

"Here," she murmured in a low voice, her footsteps seeming to echo loudly as she helped poor Quasi hobble and limp towards his destination, being that of the wooden chair so she could help tend to his wounds.

Victor, Hugo, and Laverne, they could tell by the way the blonde girl walked that she did not particularly want anyone to know she was up here in the tower, but she wasn't necessarily hiding it, either.

Laverne frowned as the blonde lass carried underneath her arm not supporting Quasi as she guided him into his chair near his carving table, items that were used to treating his wounds, and Laverne let out a hiss.

No one but Sister Alice had ever treated his wounds before, much less another woman, so this was very, very new, for their bell ringer to allow this girl into his life.

The young blonde woman's head swiveled sharply upward, hearing the noise, and Laverne silently cursed herself for not being so careful. "Way to go, Laverne! Real smooth! There's no _way_ the kid _didn't_ hear that! We'll be spotted now for sure by her, you old crone!" whisper-shouted Hugo, not being cautious enough to mind his boisterous voice.

" _Shut. Up,_ you fat miserable swine!" Laverne commanded, hissing the command through her fangs. The last vestiges of her patience tested, Laverne balled her tiny stone hand into a fist and promptly brought it down on top of the fat swine's head, not caring if she heard, though Laverne pulled Hugo and Victor back further into the dark shadows.

Madellaine de Barreau, that was her name, Laverne knew, furrowed her brows into a frown and pursed her lips into a thin. "I—is someone there? I—I know I heard you! If someone is out there, come out! I...I won't hurt you," she called out; suspicion and the beginnings of trepidation laced in her tone. The gargoyles drew in a sharp breath that pained them.

She waited. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Nothing but silence, though the three stone figures collectively emanated a tense and relieved breath as Madellaine slowly turned back around at the waist and pulled up a second chair, scooting it closer.

Quasi's gloved hand shot out from where he sat, barely conscious and still in a daze, making to still her movements, tightly holding onto her arm. "Th...there's no one up here but you and I, mademoiselle," he breathed, feeling a stab of panic at the thought of the young blonde woman discovering his companions hiding in the shadows. "Please. _Don't_."

Madellaine halted in her movements, becoming as still and unmoved as a deer caught in the sights of a loaded arrow. "Why not? I cannot just leave it unattended."

Laverne was surprised to hear the tinge of melancholia and desperation in the boy's voice, that musical, tenor-like tone she had grown used to over the years, now how laced with antagonized hurt he sounded.

The short, stout guardian was quick to decide she did not like it, and Laverne pursed her lips into a thin line and watched the girl's reaction, wanting to see what the young blonde would do to Quasi right now.

Victor, Hugo, and Laverne all watched and waited with bated breaths, hoping they did not have to hobble out of the shadows where they had taken refuge and reveal themselves to the young blonde woman so soon into her new acquaintance with Quasi. Though if she so much as laid a hand against the man in anger or fear, they would.

They could not— _would_ not—let any more harm befall him today than it already had.

"Y-you do not n—need to," Quasi answered in a flustered manner, squeezing his eyes shut. "I—I will be just fine on my own. What you are doing isn't necessary."

"I _have_ to," Madellaine answered in a clipped and curt tone, leaving him no room to argue with her. "Now please. Do not move another inch. You're hurt. Let me tend your wounds. The quicker you cooperate with me, the faster it will be over, Quasi."

His face shattered at the use of his name upon her tongue and he looked away from her.

But again, the young blonde, from what the gargoyles could see, was not having it at all, as they spied on the pair of them in the shadows, watching and listening. Madellaine raised her hand and cupped his chin in her grasp and pulled her close to him and held his gaze captive there, rising slightly from her chair, her other hand tugging on his tunic slightly, pulling it down to get a good long look at the rope burns.

He tensed, though something with Quasi's gaze seemed to crumble and slowly give way, and with a tense exhale, he allowed the young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's to look at his wand, leaning back in his chair and turning his head to the left so as to not obstruct Madellaine's sight. He flinched as her gaze lingered on his scars.

Too old to be the work of the Judge's soldiers, she knew.

"Who _did_ this to you?" Madellaine hissed in an angered voice, low and dangerous, tracing one of his scars with the pads of her fingertips, eliciting a shudder from the redhaired young bell ringer.

Quasimodo did not answer her. He did not want to. He couldn't. _Master Frollo_ , is what he wanted to say, though as he felt his cracked and slightly bleeding lips part open to trying to draw forth the strength to answer, he couldn't.

It felt like there was a gag on his tongue. He flinched away from the woman's delicate touch.

Quasi heard her sigh in disappointment. No matter. She had all the time in the world to question her new friend. She was nothing if not resilient and she was quite well known for her patience.

"Why are you doing this?" Quasi asked, unable to bear the suspense any longer, and he was reluctant to look his new acquaintance he had met in the town square outside in the eyes, though something about the young woman's icy-blue eyes held him entranced and unable to tear his gaze from hers, though he longed to pull away, but can't. and what was even more strange, he thought, was that he found he didn't want it.

Madellaine did not immediately answer Notre Dame's bell ringer, pursing her lips into a thin, rigid line, focusing on wringing out the damp cloth in the wooden basin of hot water set on the edge of the man's carving table, ringing it out and bringing the cloth to rest against his rope burns that wound around the column of his strong throat.

She felt the man shirk away and let out a tiny hiss of pain, and she flinched, but only because he did so the moment Madellaine set a gentle hand upon his shoulder and gave it a slight but reassuring squeeze, or so she hoped.

She didn't want to frighten him. Madellaine could tell by the way he held himself, that he still remained cautious of her.

Instead, Madellaine focused her attention on tending to the poor man's skin, broken, beaten, and scarred, it brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes, thinking that even with the dozens, perhaps hundreds of scars that lay hidden beneath his thick green woolen tunic and long-sleeved linen undershirt, he seemed beautiful to her, in a way.

A survivor. A fighter. Just like she was. An outcast discarded by the world. They would be fringe friends by default because no one else here in Paris would have them.

"Because you need _help_ , Quasimodo," Madellaine answered softly in a low tone, almost too low for the gargoyles to make out, who had to strain their ears to hear her.

"What did she say?" Hugo demanded, almost forgetting to keep his voice low, though Victor promptly clamped a stone claw over the fat swine's mouth, much to his chagrin, when the young blonde caught wind that someone else in the tower was here.

" _Shh_!" whispered Victor, narrowing his eyes and glowering at the shorter gargoyle struggling in the refined stone statue's quite literal stony grip.

The young blonde's head whiplashed sharply upright and she almost bolted from the chair she was occupying, and only halted, faltering in her decision to pursue the strange, unfamiliar voice, her lips parted open in shock, and her wide, almond-shaped blue eyes fearful.

"Wh—what is it?" Laverne heard the bell ringer breathe, sounding apprehensive.

Madellaine de Barreau pursed her lips and knitted her brows in quandary, huffing in frustration and put her hands on her hips, though she brought a finger to her chin to tap it as she glanced around the man's desolate and empty loft of the north bell tower.

"I thought I heard…" Madellaine gave her head a sharp, curt shake to clear it, before allowing herself to sigh in an unrestrained fashion before turning back around. "N—never mind," she murmured, hearing herself start to stammer. "It's… _stupid_."

Her brows remained together in a frown as she gave Quasimodo a once-over, continuing to dab the damp cloth at his wounds, occasionally reaching up with her thumb and forefinger and plucking out bits of rotten food from his thick tuft of fiery ginger hair that sent a tremor of something unidentifiable, but not altogether unpleasant, down his spine.

Madellaine set the cloth aside and merely proceeded to look at Notre Dame's bell ringer with raised eyebrows.

"You asked me why I'm helping you. Because…you need _help_ , Quasi," she sighed, sounding frustrated, though not with him, but with the very individuals that did this to him. "What does it matter _why_ , my friend?" she challenged, and just the word friend sent a sudden spiraling warmth inexplicably throughout Quasi's wretched chest.

" _Friend_ ," he repeated the word numbly, blinking owlishly at the young blonde as he almost sanguinely lifted his head to regard his master's newest hearth keep in silence. "Are…are we friends now?" he asked, suddenly feeling dizzy and alarmed all of a sudden. He really needed a moment to himself, though he felt sure it would not come.

There weren't many things that Quasimodo would still want for himself. Not after today. He had been bruised, tortured, despised, tormented, mocked, mentally, and physically abused.

His dream to spend just one day out there amongst the simple-minded peasant folk of Paris had come to an abrupt end the moment that woman, the ebony-haired raven beauty had pulled him up onto the stage for all of Paris to see him.

As such, Quasi was a man who was broken, having no one left in this world who gave a damn about him except for Master Frollo and Alice. And perhaps now this girl. He couldn't stop a shudder that ran through his wretched spine at the thought of this woman, this fair-haired, pale beauty, wanting to be friends with the likes of him.

After the torment and humiliation at the hands of their master, he had caused her! Quasi squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bracing himself for the inevitable moment the first woman in his adult life other than Alice de Beaumont to show him an ounce of kindness to reject his friendship, for the girl to tell him to his face what she really thought of him.

An almost-made, a monster. There was no denying what he was. But to his surprise, he heard her sigh again, and it did not come. Instead, what he heard the young woman say next almost caused him to topple out of his chair in alarm and shock.

"Yes. We _are_ , Quasimodo. Just because I have to…treat your wounds like this right now, doesn't diminish our friendship," she joked. "Yes, Quasi. I am your friend, monsieur. If…if you will have me. B—but only if you want." Came her soft, shy voice.

Startled, and at a loss for how to react to this unexpected development at the turn their conversation had taken, Quasi blinked at her as he heard the scraping sound of wood against wood reaching his somewhat damaged hearing.

Being the bell ringer of Notre Dame was simply an occupational hazard. Over ten years of ringing the proud, massive, iron bells of Notre Dame had caused him slowly but surely over time, to not hear as well as he could.

Before he could think of stopping himself, he felt the beginnings of a somewhat lopsided smile curve at the edges of his mouth, and to his relief, upon noticing it, the girl returned it with a beautiful, bright smile of her own.

Madellaine's smile held for a few moments, though her smile slid off her face as her gaze drifted downward to the wound at his collarbones, where a small cut trickled and oozed blood down his chest, staining his tunic. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise.

Quasi followed her gaze and grimaced. For a moment, in the young blonde's company, he had quite forgotten that he was injured, the more time in her presence leading to something brand-new entirely.

What he had dreaded the most was still upon him, and he flinched and tried to shirk away as Madellaine turned away from him for a moment, wringing out a fresh wag and soaking the damp cloth with wine from the wineskin, turning back around to face him with an apologetic look brimming in her bright blue eyes the color of a robin's egg.

"This is the part that's going to hurt, Quasi. I—I'm sorry for this, but it—it _has_ to be treated. If we don't, it could get _infected_."

The bell ringer nodded hastily, tilting his head back slightly and focusing his gaze on the dozens of massive iron and brass bells over their heads, focusing on his breathing alone, deep through his mouth. Inhale, exhale, repeat, just like Alice had taught him.

_Inhale_. He let Madellaine gently lower his tunic, slowly exposing more of his neck than he was comfortable with. _Exhale_. _It will be all over in a moment. Breathe_.

He now felt a damp sensation, and he recognized she had taken the second cloth with just the water and was trying to sponge off more of the bits of food before taking the first that was absorbing the wine in order to treat it and clear away the rot of infection.

Quasi tightly closed his eyes, grinding his molars in anticipation as he sensed the young blonde hearth keep's movements, moving higher, her hand hovering over his collarbone, her other arm clutching onto his right arm to prevent him thrashing about.

"You feel ready?" she urged, unable to keep the note of trepidation out of her tone. He nodded, offering up no verbal retort, and there was no time to think as, without any warning that it was coming on her part, Madellaine set the wine-soaked cloth on the stinging cut near his throat in one swift movement, flinching as he threw back his head and let out a cry.

What was that he had thought he'd known pain at Master's hand? Far from it. Though he felt like he was being torn apart as the wine stung. The pain wasn't sharp like needlepoint or a knife. It burned better than boiling water.

Everything felt scolded, and move or not, he was in more pain than Quasi could have ever imagined was even possible. He didn't want to scream and frighten his new friend away for good, so he chose the next best alternative and bit down on his bottom lip, tasting the blood.

Everything _hurt_ , burning in unpleasant ways, and tears pricked and stung at the corners of his eyes, her nails digging into the material of the brown fingerless leather gloves he wore on his hands to protect his hands from the bells' ropes and the cold.

"Breathe, my friend. Just _breathe_. It's almost over. I'm almost done, Quasi."

Madellaine's shy voice startled Quasi, and he felt his eyes snap out, immediately stumbling upon the youthful blonde's pale gaze. The bell ringer quickly realized just how well the young woman's advice applied to his current predicament, as for a moment, it would appear that he really had forgotten how to breathe, had forgotten his rhythmic pattern, and had ceased his movements. He felt himself nod rather frantically.

To distract himself, thinking he had no idea how the burning sensation lasted, he slowly lowered his head and stole a little sideways glance at the girl out of his good eye.

_Damnation_ , he thought through gritted teeth. She really _was_ quite pretty. Not as tall and statuesque as that dancer, the lovely La Esmeralda had been, but petite, tiny. A good head or two shorter than him, at best, and when Madellaine drew her hand and the cloth away, giving a curt little nod of satisfaction in response, he felt something slowly building within his chest at the sudden loss of skin-to-skin contact.

For a moment, he felt…angry, and he almost growled resisting the urge to restrain himself, though he did his best to remain unmoved from his chair until she was done.

"How is it that you know medicines, M—Madellaine?" he asked, letting out a hiss as he felt her hand come to grip onto his arm, and he glanced down and stared at it. He cursed himself for stammering on her name.

He _never_ stuttered like this, only when around Master Frollo, so why _now_? He was more than capable of coherent speech around the gargoyles, his bells, the saints, and especially the saint in the window.

She startled, wide-eyed and unblinking as she, somewhat unsteadily, rose to her feet, an arm outstretched to help him up, and he let out a shuddering breath as she reached up a hand to pick one final piece of rotten tomato out of his hair, ruffling it slightly in order to do so, and Quasi felt a chill travel down his spine that had nothing to do with the bitter Parisian January breeze that also wafted through his loft at this time.

"My…father taught my sister and I when she and I were younger, before his death," Madellaine murmured, ducking her head and turning away from him, causing a stab of panic to prick at his wretched heartstrings, and again, he cursed himself, wondering how he could have been so careless as to ask such an intrusive and personal question of her.

"I—I'm sorry," Quasi murmured, turning away the very moment he witnessed the young blonde turn towards him with an unreadable expression in those blue eyes of hers, though if he wasn't mistaken, he could see the traces of sadness that lurked, brimming as unshed, glistening moisture, these cursed tears that threatened to escape.

Madellaine blinked at him, and she made a move as though to grab onto his shoulder as she set down the basin of medical supplies back on the table, though something within her caused her to falter in the decision, but must have thought better of it, for she stopped, let out a tired sigh, and raked her fingers through her short blonde hair.

"Y—you could not have known, monsieur," she murmured. "It…happened a long time ago," Madellaine whispered, though Quasi was no fool. He heard the crack in her voice, the way she inclined her heard, heard her sniff once or twice, letting out a cry.

Muted though it was, Quasi heard, despite his less-than-stellar hearing, and it felt as though a piece of his heart shattered, though, by the time the young blonde managed to compose herself enough to the point where she could lift her head and meet his gaze, she was smiling at him kindly that caused his heart to pound against his broad chest.

Her beauty was, quite something, and frankly, too much for Notre Dame's bell ringer to process, as he noticed Madellaine close off the gap of space, close enough that her nose was almost touching his, and he stiffened involuntarily at the sudden closeness.

The way that he was looking at her, the torment and pity in her blue eyes, the likes of which he was all too familiar with, for Quasi saw it every time he met his own reflection staring back at him in a shard of mirror. It was the last thing he expected to see in those sapphire eyes of Master Frollo's new hearth keep.

"There. Good as new. Thank you for allowing me to help treat your wounds. You're going to be fine, my friend," Madellaine murmured lowly in a voice meant to convey reassurance, though all it really succeeded in doing was causing his heart to beat even louder in his chest.

Madellaine latched onto his shoulder and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and Quasi knew this all had to be some kind of a dream. A cruel, horrible nightmare. One so blissful that any moment, he would wake from and be forced to ring for Lauds to signal the starting of a new day, and this celestial-like, fair creature would be just gone.

Quasi drew in a sharp breath of frigid air as the petite little blonde sank into a low curtsy, seemingly at a loss for words, and turned away on the heel of her brown boots.

Moved with emotion, he managed in a hoarse whisper, "Wait! A—a moment, mademoiselle," Quasi pleaded, trying to think of something— _anything_ —to keep this creature by his side for a moment longer. To prove to him that he was not dreaming.

A pause in her response this time was exactly what Quasi had hoped for, for the young blonde stopped at the edge of the ladder's top rung that would take her to the lower level of the mezzanine and back down the stone stairwell to the main sanctuary.

"Yes?" When she spoke, her voice was soft, and faint. Barely above a whisper, and if Quasimodo hadn't already been hanging onto her every word, he'd have missed it.

Madellaine slowly shifted at the waist, craning over her shoulder to regard the elusive bell ringer in silence, twisting her knuckles in between her fingers, waiting for him to speak.

She herself was not aware of it as she heard herself exhale slowly, to meet that haunted expression she had seen in the man's brilliant azure orbs when she had run into him, almost quite literally, in the town square earlier, and she did not like this look.

It did not suit him. He really did look better when he smiled, she thought.

_It's all right_ , was what Madellaine wanted to tell him, as he struggled, stammering to find his words. _I know who you are, who our Master is. I won't let anybody else hurt you_.

But even she couldn't seem to get her own words out, and she felt her frustration begin to well in her chest, and Madellaine resisted the urge to stomp her foot in agitation. Though at last, the bell ringer seemed to find his voice.

"Will I…see you again?" he asked, a note of hope lingering in his voice that almost made her smile.

Madellaine heard the lilt in the gentle man's tone, hearing the colorful orchestra of his voice, and paired with the small, slightly crooked smile, she could not refuse him.

"Yes." Her answer left her lips without any semblance of hesitation, and she inclined her head, and she shot him a kind white smile, which he quickly returned, and her first initial thought of the lonesome man's smile was that it was bright, golden.

Though by the way his brows furrowed in a slightly worried frown, Madellaine could tell Notre Dame's bell ringer was not at all assuaged by her words and would need more convincing.

Almost as if on cue, she heard the boisterous voice of Captain Phoebus emanating from the lower level of the sanctuary, and she inwardly groaned.

Time had flown so quickly up here, that she had quite forgotten to explain to her new friend that Captain Phoebus was meant to escort her back to the Palace of Justice before nightfall so that she could serve Master Frollo his dinner, or else she would be in grave trouble, and she was already walking a thin line with the judge as it happened.

"May I come back tomorrow? I promise this time not to bring any wine," Madellaine asked, joking with him weakly, and gesturing towards the bowl of medicinal supplies tucked underneath her arm that she intended to give back to Sister Alice before allowing Captain Phoebus to escort her back home, pausing to poke her head over the top rung of the ladder, nervously biting down on her bottom lip in anticipation.

He did not answer her, merely proceeded to nod. His smile was that of a pleasant sunset this time, his lips curling into a soft, gentle grin that instantly sent a flood of fiery heat to her cheeks and caused her heart to drop into her stomach and sent it churning.

As she slid down the rungs of the ladder and headed at a leisurely pace towards the door that she knew would take her back down to the main sanctuary of the cathedral, Madellaine heard the man's magnificent voice call out to her once more, no longer timid and afraid of her, nor laced with pain as it had a few moments ago from his wound. But rather, this time, more confident, surer of himself, and even... hopeful.

"Goodnight, Madellaine."

She was still smiling as she descended the stairwell, unable to stop thinking about the man's eyes. Madellaine de Barreau was a young Parisian woman who possessed the rare gift of being able to see past a person's exterior and into the psyche and worlds of those around her, something that her father, Lucien Barreau, had instilled in her and her older sister, Maria, at a young age.

It was this that stumped Quasimodo and left him puzzled for the next hour as time dragged on in his desolate and cold, dark tower, already instantly missing the warmth and brightness his new friend emitted when she had been up here.

The young blonde hearth keep of Judge Claude Frollo had achieved something that nobody else in all of Paris ever had. She had befriended the 'monstrous' bell ringer of Notre Dame de Paris.

And her new friendship with the man was about to have dire consequences, beyond anything Madellaine could have ever imagined.


	12. To Atone Her Sin

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! This is my first ever Esmeralda POV chapter, pretty much ever, as I kind of skipped over her in my other ND stories, but this time around since it's a blend of the German musical and the Disney movie, I'm trying not* to do that this time lol.**

**I've never written for Esmeralda, but considering how much I adored watching the German musical, I can't see anybody else but Mercedesz Csampai and Felix Martin in the roles of La Esmeralda and Claude Frollo, respectively, though in this version obviously, I've kept Claude as the Judge and not the Archdeacon of the church. Felix provides a handsome, refined status to Frollo and at times I empathized with his character in the musical to the point where I felt sorry for him (but did not condone what he was doing) and Esmeralda, Mercedesz brought such a fresh perspective to our favorite Romani dancer that I've not seen before, and has such, has left an impression on this story lol.**

**I hope you're enjoying the story so far! As usual, I don't own any of the characters associated with Walt Disney Properties or any characters from the German version of the musical, merely a few originals sprinkled here and there.**

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**Chapter Twelve: To Atone Her Sin**

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**THE** thunder outside of Notre Dame de Paris seemed to crack the very air itself as if the heavens were threatening to split apart. A cloaked figure shrouded in a blue cape looked towards the sky. Then, she heard it, like a negative reflection of the magnificent cathedral's own church bells pealing, just above her head.

Esmeralda lowered the hood of her cloak, allowing a raven curl to tumble in front of her face, and with a minor huff of annoyance, she swiped it out of her way with one swift movement of her thumb and forefinger as the thunder rolled across the malevolent sky.

The untamed power reverberated and echoed across the bleak-looking landscape. The town square had been cleared of the festivities within the last hour, by order of the notorious Judge himself.

Esmeralda shuddered as quiet vibration plastered underneath her skin.

_Claude Frollo_.

Just the mention of the reviled man's name in the dark recesses of her mind send a tremor down her spine and was enough to send her weak. She hesitated, biting the wall of her cheek as she lingered near the wide oak double doors of the main level of the sanctuary.

She had, in her short time of living in Paris, the City of Lovers, lust, wine, and good food, never once dared to set foot through the doors of Notre Dame de Paris, the Lady of Peace is what the Parisian peasant folk called her, though the weather, it would seem, had other ideas in mind for her.

Black clouds sprawl across the sky, billowing in from the west. Their brassy glare drained the color from the roofs of houses and trees, leaving Paris tinted bronze in the faltering light. The air grew heavy, almost suffocating in a way, and the humidity pressed down, smothering and thick. The scent of rain was dark and heady, carrying with it the smells of spices from other distant lands.

A stillness falls over the town square of Notre Dame, and in the silence comes a low crackle of thunder, rolling across rooftops to the pattering of tiny raindrops. For a moment, everything stops. Even the wind held its breath.

A streak of hot silver split the dark sky, and the downpour began. Sensing no other choice, Esmeralda steeled herself, reaching out a trembling hand and tugged, almost grunting with the effort at how heavy the doors were, to open them, and slipped inside into the darkness, unfastening her cloak at the shoulders and letting the garment fall at her feet before stooping to pick it up.

Esmeralda raised a hand to her eyes as she felt her pupils dilate the moment the oak doors slammed shut behind her, and she visibly winced. She did not even know if she was allowed entrance into such a holy place, this house of God, considering what she was.

Where she came from. What she had done in order to survive, though her attention was drawn towards the sound of bells, coming from somewhere above her head. Each slow chime was a soft melody, echoing through the cavernous inner hall of the main sanctuary, reverberating off the ancient stone wall of the massive cathedral before her.

A baritone voice from behind her, gruff, rough, and coarse sounding, made her skin crawl.

"So… a gypsy _dares_ to enter this holy place. What are you doing here, _witch_?"

Esmeralda froze, her feet planted firmly on top of the black and white checkered tile beneath her feet and she visibly cringed, biting her teeth. Slowly, as if in a dream, a horrible nightmare, Esmeralda turned to face the distinguished Judge Frollo, and the handsome, refined older gentleman seemed to feed on the terror brimming in her glistening green orbs.

The young Romani woman swallowed nervously at the darkening look in the Judge's cold gray eyes as they narrowed until they were nothing but slits. She felt her throat hollow and constrict, and when, by some miracle of God, if He even looked out for the likes of her and her people, she found her voice, though she knew her voice lacked the conviction she really wanted to make in order to sell her argument. Esmeralda began to hear herself stammer.

"And why not?" she challenged, gulping again as she could feel the Judge's inquisitive eyes curl over her backside as she turned away from him.

Esmeralda had come here to find that boy, to apologize for the horrific way she had treated the man, wretch though he was, if she would have known…

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Esmeralda slowly turned at the waist as she felt the Judge's shadow consume her in darkness, and she did not even have to look behind her to feel the man's presence as he stood behind her.

Though, against her better judgment, she found herself turning to meet Claude Frollo's gaze.

This was…foreign, and most unusual for her, not to feel anything but an alien chill in the man's presence, and yet, she could detect no hint of malice or deceit within the man's eyes, merely an insatiable curiosity.

"Because your kind is not _allowed_ in here, heathen witch," he spat, his words dripping as a poison from his silver, languid tongue, and she shivered.

Esmeralda stared with wide-green eyes at the man she knew that she feared. The Judge's face, lean, though it was quite sleepless, as evident by the crumpling at the edges of his light gray eyes that reminded her of the last ashes of a fire, billowing in the wind, or the gray of a pigeon's wing, or the dull skies outside as the thunderstorm currently waged war on the city of Paris right now.

The much darker shade beneath Claude's eyes suggested to Esmeralda that he was not sleeping, and the man's lean face, hard from his pale skin currently pulled taut with a rage, a frustrated rage, to his thick tuft of salt and pepper hair, met Esmeralda's with a critical interest she did not know what to make of. Esmeralda had heard stories of the Judge and the man's cruelty.

There were not many things in this life Esmeralda wanted for herself. The young woman had been bent, bruised, despised, jeered at for her affiliation as a member of Monsieur Clopin Trouillefou's Court of Miracles, physically hurt. Any dreams that she might have once had, life saw fit to murder them all.

Her entire family had been killed, slaughtered at the hands of Claude's own soldiers when she was but a little girl, no more than four or five, at best. A kindly old crone had taken her in by the name of Gwendolyn, and the pair had fled Paris, France, for a number of years, roaming the countryside.

La Esmeralda, this strange material of beauty, was a broken woman.

She had no one left in this world and was utterly alone. She had but one dream left.

Esmeralda dreamed of safety, of peace. Just a moment when she and the rest of her people would be able to breathe without constantly fearing for her life or that of her virtue, which menfolk sought to _take_ from her at every whim.

The Judge made an odd little strangled sound at the back of his throat and she heard the clacking of his boot heels as he moved to stand beside her.

She felt herself stiffen instinctively and involuntarily at such unwanted closeness, though she knew if she were to move away now, it would surely produce unwanted results and perhaps make situations worse for herself.

Judge Claude Frollo was a man who would do whatever he deemed necessary in order to achieve the desired results. A time of peace was what the man sought to adhere to, and he firmly believed he would be able to do that.

His cold, listless gray eyes wandered the length of the young dancer's body, studying her features.

The young woman's emotions were not easily hidden on her seemingly innocent face, though Claude refused himself to allow his mind to become ensnared in the heathen witch's trap. Her pain was evident in the crease of her lovely dark eyebrows as they knitted tougher in a quandary as she sensed the man spying on her, though the girl offered up no verbal retort.

The down curve of her full, luscious pink lips held the Judge captive as he was unable to tear his gaze away from them, resisting the beck and call of the witch's aura, his hand balling into a fist and shaking as he lowered it to his side, feeling his fingernails dig into his skin hard enough to pierce the sensitive flesh and stain his palms crimson with his own blood, wanting nothing more than to reach up with the pad of his fingertip and trace the conclave of her lip and its divot, to see if it was as soft as it looked, or if this was all just an illusion.

When she spoke again, the Judge closed his eyes in an odd half-smile.

"What did my people ever do to you, Your Honor?" she asked, feeling the edges of her lips tug upward into a twisted sneer, more of a pained grimace. "Why do you hate us so much?" Esmeralda continued, finding that she genuinely wanted to hear the truth from this man's thin lips for once in her life.

"More than you know," Judge Frollo answered by way of retort, feeling his breath catch in his throat for a moment as his gaze continued to slide over the heathen gypsy witch's entrancing body, assessing her slender figure in her simple ivory chemise with the short-capped, off-the-shoulder sleeves and rich purple overdress. As the young woman slowly lifted her chin and glowered at him with a look that he could only perceive as venom in her forest green eyes, her very eyes showed her soul. The young woman could not have been older than twenty-three or four. Older than his ward by a few years, he knew, at best.

The girl had a kind of understated beauty. Perhaps it was because she was so disarmingly unaware of her natural prettiness. Her skin was flawless. La Esmeralda was a woman of filthy repute, this Claude knew, he had seen the way she had twisted her body in dance, just as her kind twisted the truth, and yet, the witch before him who had dared to cross the threshold of the outside world and into this holy place was also all about simplicity.

Making things easier, helping those around her in the wretched circle of horrible vermin she associated with to be comfortable and happy with what they had, which was not much, and Claude aimed to ensure that their condition _stayed_ that way.

Perhaps that is why her skin glowed so, it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her features. She was still so young she held the exuberance of youth. Her muscle definition was perfect, and the girl walked with the confidence of someone a decade older, in their early to mid-thirties. She was not just flawless in her bone structure; her skin was like silk over a glass and the young woman who had pulled his deformed monstrosity of his ward up onto the platform for all of Paris to see radiated an intelligent beauty.

Her hair was the brown of aged mahogany, rich and deep, yet with the subtle hues only time brings. With each stride the strands tumbled, reflecting the strengthening daylight in waves, and it hung loose in relaxed ringlets and natural curls to just past her shoulders, stopping at right above her breasts.

Claude sucked in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as his gaze settled and lingered on her eyes. Her eyes were like a clear lake in a dark forest, if you looked closer at that lake you could see around a shallow crevice filled with completely transparent water. The water didn't tug or ripple in the closed-off space, though there was reason enough to.

In that already unnaturally beautiful scene were two identical and gigantic green koi fish - trapped in an unbreakable and frighteningly fast chase for each other's long tails, fusing into a seamless circle. The only thing that got through their immortal war was a white light from the moon, a gracious beam to caress the bodies of the two.

How it bounced off their scales making the water turn a paler green. As the Judge looked into La Esmeralda's eyes, he knew that all the beauty of the entire world could not compete with this simple thing that she possessed.

_Passion_. Passion turned her green eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, and in them, Claude read that this witch would fight to the very last tear for her wretched, miserable existence. This was a woman who would not let the world break her spirit.

La Esmeralda clung to it with a fiery passion hotter than any dragon fire from the tales of old he used to tell Quasimodo when the boy was much younger as a form of entertainment for his rare good behavior.

A trait that made her beautiful.

Judge Frollo sneered, his lips tightening as he gave his head a curt shake to clear it.

"I would ask you again, young mademoiselle, and please do not make me repeat myself. I am a patient man, witch, but that does not necessarily mean that I enjoy _repeating_ myself. Why are you here? And do not make me say it for a second time, or you should find yourself removed from this holy place, witch, never to set foot within her walls again," he growled, hardening his voice, feeling his blood boil within his veins, though not as hot as before when he had gotten a good look at his ward on the pillory, hearing the boy's frightened pleas to him, alerting the entire city of Paris that he was the wretch's master, bound and tethered to him by his duty.

Esmeralda felt her face shatter and when she took a half step away from him, she let out a pained gasp of surprise as she felt the man's strong arm shot out and latch onto her forearm to prevent her from walking away from Claude.

"Do not walk away from me. You have not been _dismissed_ , wench. Answer the question. Why have you come here? Certainly, it is not to _pray_ …" Judge Frollo bristled at the young girl's lack of response, though he forced himself to tamper down the worst of his temper.

No matter. He was a patient man. He had all the time in the world to interrogate this heathen witch and needle the answer out of her. He was well known for his patience in Paris. La Esmeralda was resisting his attempts to engage in a conversation, and nothing more, and the fact spurred him, and he felt his eyelid twitch in rancor.

Esmeralda froze, biting down hard on the wall of her cheek, and she flinched, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she felt the Judge's grip tighten. His attentions were not wanted, though they were not necessarily unwanted. Esmeralda did not know what to make of the reviled Judge Claude Frollo.

Merely that his attention directed towards her at this moment were much too intense for her to be comfortable with, too invasive, way too heated…

She heard the Judge huff in frustration, and she dared not look, though she could imagine the distinguished older man pinching at his front temples in frustration.

"You _do_ know how to stir a good conversation, my child. Tell me."

The sudden shift in the man's countenance gave Esmeralda pause, and for a moment, she did not know how to react. The Judge's gruff voice was softer, much more subdued than before, though it still sounded rough at the edges.

"I—I came here to find that boy," she whispered, at last, her voice meek.

The hairs on the back of Esmeralda's neck stood upright, and she breathed out a shaking but relieved breath through her flaring nostrils as she felt the Judge's ironclad grip upon her arm slacken, and then he released her.

Almost sanguinely, Esmeralda slowly lifted her chin, jutting it out slightly defiantly to meet Claude Frollo's gaze, to show him she wasn't afraid.

Oh, but she _was_.

Immediately upon meeting the man's listless gaze, Esmeralda was quick to conclude this was _not_ going to be at all pleasant.

"That boy does not _need_ your help, he is _my_ charge," Frollo answered coldly, and Esmeralda pursed her lips, hoping her crestfallen mood did not betray her and give away her current emotion in her eyes. "You should leave."

But Esmeralda could not bring herself to follow the Judge's commands. The fear traveled in her veins but never made it to her facial muscles or skin. Her complexion remained ashen and matt, her eyes steady as if she were shopping for food in the marketplace. Esmeralda let out an understated sigh and turned to leave, showing the man she was not afraid to turn her back, though she did not head off in the general direction the Judge expected her to.

"Stop." The command left the Judge's lips without hesitation, and there was a hint of hardened steel in the man's voice that told Esmeralda she needed to listen, or it would be she that would suffer the consequences of his temper.

Esmeralda did as he bade her, turning slightly at the waist to regard him.

"You are clever, witch," Judge Frollo murmured after a moment of silence, still keeping his hands clasped folded in front of his middle. "The exit is that way. Where you are going, heathen witch, is _his_ domain. He would only succeed in frightening you. You are lucky, my child, I find myself in a _merciful_ mood. If you leave now, I will…forget the crime you committed this afternoon by disobeying my command when you helped free the wretch from the pillory."

Esmeralda favored silence as the only apt response at the current moment, afraid that if she allowed her own temper surging as a fire within her veins, a coil in her gut-twisting as her stomach lurched and churned nauseously, that she would only succeed in provoking the man's violent ways.

She inclined her head in a show of submission, though a question burned on her tongue. "I am afraid that I cannot do as you ask, Your Honor."

Esmeralda felt a hollowing on her throat and the will to scream as she watched as Judge Claude Frollo's head whiplashed sharply upward to regard her words, and she knew by the look on the man's emaciated face, and in his eyes, that they had hit their mark.

" _What_?" he asked, as though he had misheard her when the girl knew full well that he'd hung onto her every word.

Esmeralda swallowed down hard past the growing lump in her throat, feeling as small as her breaking voice when she finally managed to find her voice, and, in a show of utmost respect for the man who detained the power with a single snap of his fingers to make her life going forward a living hell if he so chose, she gathered the skirts of her chemise and dark purple overdress and sank in a low curtsy, her gaze fixated on the man's boots, not wanting to meet his eyes, in an effort to placate him and also get her way regarding the boy.

Claude's expression turned almost languid, as his gray eyes darted briefly towards the bell tower stairwell behind her and then back towards her.

Esmeralda, sensing imminent danger, continued trying to bargain with the man.

"What happened to your ward was _my_ fault, Your Grace, and I would like to apologize," she murmured, not at all wanting to meet his gaze, a fiery heat spreading to her cheeks, and she blinked back the beginnings of salty, briny liquid. Tears.

She blinked, momentarily startled. She had not cried in a number of years, thinking it to be an utmost weakness. The guilt at what she had done to that poor accursed creature that was rumored to live in this very cathedral sat on her chest. What she had done to him, Esmeralda could not take that back.

Esmeralda could attempt to make amends towards the creature in subtle ways, but the confession was out of the question, even to a priest within these walls. Only in her silent prayers could she speak to God and beg for His mercy.

If God even _listened_ to an outcast's prayers like hers.

Esmeralda prayed that one day she would feel removed from her sin today, to be washed clean of it, but the guilt was a stain on her, an ugly scar. She had to believe in redemption and rebirth, she had to leave her deeds in past and move on.

Esmeralda felt herself stiffen as she straightened her posture from her curtsy and cleared her throat, needing to beseech that boy, if he was up there.

She owed it to him to apologize for the despicable way she treated him.

One second passed. Two. Three seconds passed as the Judge regarded her in silence.

Guilt was eating away at her soul and pestering Esmeralda to no end. A fire burned in her throat and in her mind, and she could feel his eyes as daggers aiming at her from where the distinguished judge stood by the stairs.

"As far as I am considered, witch, the fault is that of the boy's," the Judge growled cuttingly through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes as he turned his head, that discerning gaze of aloof coldness towards Esmeralda, who froze. "You should not trouble yourself, mademoiselle, to give him an excuse for his actions. He is not allowed outside of this sanctuary. No part of the boy's body is allowed anywhere outside of Notre Dame. _You_ may not be aware of this, but the _boy_ certainly is," he barked, his tone clipped and hard as he regarded the girl.

"Please," Esmeralda begged, hating hearing the faltering crack and dip in her husky tone, just as the Judge turned his back on her and prepared to leave. "He meant no harm, monsieur. He is innocent. If you must punish anyone for what transpired out there today, then you will punish me, but don't take it out on that man. Has he not suffered enough? He's no less human than you or I."

The Judge halted, stilling his movements, and slowly turned towards Esmeralda, who swallowed, thinking she had just made a grave mistake in overstepping her boundaries, and she mentally slapped herself for her error.

Esmeralda did not know exactly what she had been expecting, but for him to take a moment merely to regard her, to stare at her, his gray eyes glistening with unshed moisture that was not exactly tears, per se, well, it was not what she had anticipated from this man of many rumors standing before her.

The fact that the Judge did not immediately respond to her plea irked Esmeralda, and she began to feel more than a little nervous by his staring. He reacted towards her begging by proceeding to raise his eyebrows in alarm and smiling at her, almost in an intimate manner, as if the Judge were enjoying some private joke with himself. Esmeralda sighed and continued.

"Should we not treat others as we wish them to treat ourselves?" she pressed, wanting nothing more than to put an end to their conversation.

Judge Frollo blinked, seemingly startled by Esmeralda's follow up. "Our Lord Jesus said something similar once," he murmured softly, glancing towards the white marble statue nearby of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus. Esmeralda heard herself let out a concentrated, shaking breath.

She forced herself to level her eyes as she did her absolute best not to raise her eyebrows in somewhat of a sarcastic manner.

What did he _want_?! Though, it occurred to her that Judge Claude Frollo was enjoying this, toying with her like this, much like a panther would stalk its prey. He spoke to her softly, however, Esmeralda's stomach twisted and churned at the hungered look in his eyes. The Judge's gray eyes burnt like midnight torches, and Esmeralda could see the loathing that spiraled as endless, fathomless pits.

But there was something else in there as he met her gaze. Something that caused a tremor of fear and…something unidentifiable, to waft down her back. Something that resembled abhorrence, loathing, and even worse…frustrated desire.

_For… for me_ , she thought and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the beads of sweat forming on her brow bone, at her temples. And still. Esmeralda forced herself to look at Claude Frollo without a hint of fear or recoiling away from the man, though internally, she quaked.

She had been trained to mask her panic with apathy the day she lost her family to the Judge's soldiers, and Esmeralda could tell the way that she didn't give in to fear and allowing his intimidation to consume her, spurred his ire.

"I do not wish to discuss in detail anymore what happened today, least of all to you, for you are incapable of understanding," replied the Judge after a moment, stepping away from her, sounding much more subdued and complacent towards her than he had a mere moment ago. "I do not need to justify myself to you, _witch_ ," he spat, bitterness laced throughout his tones. "It is clear you and the rest of your race think me a monster, a merciless brute, given the way that I uphold Paris to her laws. I am, however, not as heartless as you might think, and as such, will permit you to find my…ward, and apologize to the wretch. I give you fifteen minutes, though I would be remiss if I did not confess to you that I believe you to be wasting your breath, my child."

Esmeralda felt what little color was left in her face drain, feeling her fury rise within her chest and spreading as a spiraling warmth all throughout her system, causing her to let out a haggard breath and she bit her bottom lip.

She wanted to offer some quip, some cutting remark that would cut the man and his pretentious, arrogant ways, but there were too many tired thoughts swirling around in her tired mind, and she wished to leave, as quickly as possible, to find that boy and go home.

Let the man think what he wanted. It was no concern of hers.

Esmeralda slowly inclined her head and offered an awkward little half curtsy, sensing the Judge was satisfied by the display of respect she had just offered him, for he proceeded to nod his head and made to turn away, though he paused, his ears perking up as he heard the soft susurration of his hearth keep's voice, and her boots descending the stairs.

He knew from Sister Alice the little blonde lass had gone up to the wretch's tower and had attempted to tend to his wounds, though had it been up to him if he had been present at the time, he'd have let the boy stew in them.

It was no less than the monster deserved. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, and turned away, not bothering to look behind him as he stalked out of the cathedral and out of the door without so much as a glance backward.

Esmeralda let out a haggard sigh and turned back towards the stairwell, and was immediately met with tension upon doing so, as she found herself face-to-face with none other than the young blonde woman close to her age.

The very same girl who stood at the front of the stage and had attempted to stop her from pulling Notre Dame's bell ringer up onto the wooden platform.

Esmeralda felt her lips part open slightly in shock. The young blonde with the short blonde hair cut as short as a young boy's and petite, elfin like features did not look at all pleased to see her heading up the darkened stairwell.

A small wooden basin with bloodied, damp rags was tucked underneath her left arm, though as she fumbled off the top step and would have tripped had Esmeralda not immediately shot out an arm to catch her, a little bit of the bloodied water splashed onto the black and white checkered tile beneath their boots.

As the blonde slowly lifted her chin and jutted it out, she was smiling to herself, though Esmeralda could tell that it was strained and quite forced.

Esmeralda did not bother to hide her frown as she looked upon the younger woman, feeling her brows come together in utter confusion and anger. Confusion, because she did know where this woman's animosity directed at her was stemming from, and anger, because she knew she did not like it.

The young woman's bright blue eyes were burning with a smoldering, fathomless rage, with the girl waiting for a remark on what Esmeralda was doing here, at the entrance to Notre Dame's bell ringer's north tower stairwell.

Esmeralda swallowed, feeling her throat hollow and constrict, resisting the urge to scream.

"I er… I came here to check on the boy, to attend to him." She uttered the words almost begrudgingly, hoping that she and this new she-stranger could come to a mutual understanding with one another, and perhaps, Esmeralda might be naïve and foolish to hope for this next part, that she could one day call this young blonde lass close to her friend like a sister.

Esmeralda lacked a female presence in her life, someone to laugh with, share jokes, tell stories, visit the marketplace, ever since the death of her sister.

The young blonde favored silence as the only apt response, looking at her from her face, to the hem of her ivory chemise and dark purple overdress, her eyes speculative and slightly despairing, to which Esmeralda had no comment.

"I…ah... didn't know that _you_ would be here," Esmeralda murmured, the heat creeping to her cheeks, though she refused to be the one to avert her gaze first. Come to think of it, she did not even know this young woman's name! She bit the inside wall of her cheek, thinking that, as far as awkward situations go, this, by far, had to be the _worst_ encounter she had ever had.


	13. A New Friend

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! It is here where things kind of start to take a bit of a detour from the movies, but hopefully, is still a good chapter.**

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**Chapter Thirteen: A New Friend**

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**MADELLAINE** startled, almost fumbling the small wooden basin of bloodied water in her hand from where she had tended to Quasi's wounds, feeling a prickling heat creep to her chest, sending a spiraling warmth through her entire system, and creeping its way at a rapidly alarming pace into her cheeks.

She had been under the impression when she had brought Quasimodo back into the cathedral, given the way the crowd had looked at him, parting as the Red Sea did for Moses, that no one would want to see him, not after _that_.

Clearly, she now knew herself to be completely wrong in that regard. She swallowed down hard past the growing lump in her throat as she stepped off the bottom step, wracking her brain for something to say.

Thankfully, the Romani dancer who had pulled Quasi up on the stage broke the silence first.

"I—I came here to apologize," she murmured.

"I…" Madellaine stammered, blinking owlishly at the tanned Romani woman with the ebony curls that, if she were being honest with herself, made her feel a little self-conscious as she reached up with her free hand to tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear.

She cringed, thinking how horribly _awkward_ of a situation this was, suddenly wishing for nothing more than the black and white checkered tile beneath her feet to open up and swallow her whole and not let her re-emerge until the girl had gone.

The horrible way the Feast of Fools had ended was still on Madellaine's mind, much to her chagrin, despite her best efforts to put today's horrific events out of her mind, and suddenly, she cursed herself. She had room to talk. The young blonde hearth keep winced and cast a skittish glance behind her shoulder towards the north tower stairwell.

If anyone should want to put this day behind him for good, it was that boy.

"Quasi," she whispered, his name leaving her lips without any semblance of hesitation on her part, which the young woman felt odd.

The dancer from the stage had seen the movement of her lips, though Madellaine had barely moved them and was looking rather tense. "What?" she asked, furrowing her dark brows in a frown as she put her hands on her hips. "What did you say?" she asked, looking confused.

Madellaine blushed, a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks. "H—his name," she stammered, clarifying for the young Romani woman upon sensing her furrowed brows and the way the edges of her mouth turned downward in a slight frown.

She sighed, reaching up and moving her blonde bangs off her forehead out of her way, pursing her lips into a frown as she stooped for a moment to set the basin of medical supplies that needed emptying on a small wooden table next to a five-pronged candelabra.

"You _should_ apologize," she began hesitantly, careful to keep the anger from seeping into her tone, though she could tell by the way the other woman flinched that it was much too late for that, that this exotic dancer, was hurt.

_Good_ , Madellaine thought meanly in a snakelike voice that did not quite sound like her conscience at all, and the young blonde blinked, startled at the change. _This girl ought to be ashamed for what she did to Quasimodo_.

The other woman cringed and bit down on her bottom lip, which signaled to Madellaine, who considered herself fairly observant on a good day, that she did, at the very least, feel a small semblance of guilt for her role in what had transpired outside the cathedral doors tonight, which wasn't in her mind saying much, as actions speak louder than words, but…

_But she's sorry. Look at her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She regrets her part in this_ , her conscience piped up helpfully. _Let her go up and apologize_.

Madellaine offered the voice in the back of her mind a curt little nod, just small enough that the other woman did not notice it, or if she had, the girl knew to hide her surprise well and was quite good at concealing her shock, for which Madellaine was grateful.

The _last_ thing she wanted was to have to explain herself.

She heaved a sigh and pinched at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, resigned to the fact that if that boy was going to get an apology out of this woman, she would have no choice but to step aside and let her pass, for she had sensed the man's initial reluctance to follow her downstairs, content to stay put in his bell towers.

Madellaine frowned, feeling more than a little confused by the hot fire seed of anger that welled and churned in the pit of her stomach as a coil in her gut twisted, and she swore she tasted bile when she looked up.

"I thought that you behaved abominably," Madellaine began carefully, speaking very slowly and clearly to ensure she was understood, as her French accent was rather thick, and this other woman did not sound French at all.

She watched with the slightest twinge of satisfaction as the dark-haired, dark-skinned Romani woman shifted rather uncomfortably.

When the other girl said nothing, Madellaine took that as her sign to continue. "But…"

She heaved a heavy sigh, slumping her shoulders in resigned defeat. Madellaine lacked the energy and strength to argue, and she wanted nothing more than to put the tragic events of today behind her.

"But what _his_ — _my_ —o—our _master_ , did to him was a disgrace to the name of man by not stopping the crowd's cruelty when it escalated, and allowing his own soldiers, men who are supposed to promote peace, to carry on in such a despicable way was abhorrent, and…they are the ones to blame, mademoiselle, not… _you_ ," she stammered, feeling her blush intensify as the woman's dark eyebrows rose high on her forehead in alarm and shock. "Wh—what's your name?" Madellaine questioned, internally cursing herself for forgetting proper edict, a common woman like herself or not.

Everything about this little surprise encounter was just so horribly awkward, and Madellaine blushed, the heat on her cheeks intensifying until she was certain that she was as beet red as a tomato. She let out a sigh.

She wanted nothing more than to put a prompt end to this conversation and bid the woman a good night. Madellaine had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that Master Frollo was, given the circumstances, not in the best of moods tonight and would no doubt require attending to following the disastrous conclusion of the FOF.

"Esmeralda," she answered immediately without any hesitation. There was a rather awkward pause before she coughed once to quell her nervousness. "A—and yours?" the other girl asked in a timid, skittish way.

"Madellaine." Madellaine swallowed down past the growing lump in her throat and allowed a nervous little chuckle to escape her lips. "W—well, I—I need to—to be going now. If you hurry, you should be able to find him up there before he has to ring for evening Mass, Esmeralda, I—I shan't keep you any longer than I already have," she stammered, though she cast one last look of longing towards the dark, damp stairwell behind her. It was a look that Esmeralda, in her inquisitive state, did not miss.

Quirking a thick dark brow the young blonde's way, she sensed a familiar look of longing in those bright pale blue orbs that she had seen in her own reflection a time or two in times past before she came to Paris.

Esmeralda bit the inside wall of her cheek and nodded, watching, feeling somewhat stupefied, as the young blonde sank into a low curtsy, bending the right knee and gathering the skirts of her dark blue velvet gown in both her hands before straightening her posture and walking away.

The young blonde servant of Judge Claude Frollo started to walk away when Esmeralda called out behind her and she halted her movement.

"Come up with me?" The dancer asked the hearth keep, a note of hope lingering in her tone. Madellaine's almond-shaped blue eyes went wide and round with shock as she slowly turned on the heels of her boots.

"E—excuse me?" she squeaked, suddenly feeling quite flustered and feigning ignorance, as though she had misheard the older woman, though as she bit the inside wall of her cheek and lifted her gaze to lock eyes with Esmeralda, she could tell the other woman was not fooled in the slightest.

Madellaine listened, captivated by the woman's voice that held a slight husky drawl to it, thinking that it sounded rather seductive, though, at the same time, she was rather clear and eloquent, for a wandering nomad.

"You are that boy's friend, yes?" Esmeralda questioned curiously, her large forest green eyes that resembled the moss on the bark of a tree flitting from the young blonde to the stairwell behind the younger girl's head. Sensing Madellaine's confusion, Esmeralda blushed and elaborated. "I—n—not that I was _spying_ on the two of you or anything, but well, I could not help but notice that you escorted him into the cathedral. You held his arm as though you were familiar with the man, and I thought…."

But Esmeralda's voice cracked, faltering, and dipping slightly as her resolve faltered as she lost herself in the blonde woman's gaze, and she did not bother to complete her sentence. She could tell the girl did not like her.

When Madellaine narrowed her eyes in slight suspicion, Esmeralda let out a tired sigh and took a dark curl in her fingers to nervously twirl it.

"I may be a beggar on the streets, Madellaine, may I call you that, my friend?" Esmeralda asked, wincing as she noticed the blonde stiffen at the use of the term friend, though she heard herself breathe an audible sigh of relief as again the girl nodded, "but that does _not_ mean that I am ignorant. People don't often notice someone like me outside, at least when I'm not up on the stage dancing and performing for money, but it suits me well, you see."

Madellaine knitted her eyebrows together in confusion and further narrowed her eyes at the slightly older woman, feeling suspicious of her intentions. " _And_? I don't understand. What does this have to do with me?" she asked, wincing as she recognized her tone sounded cold and accusing. The young blonde let out an exasperated sigh and tried again.

As she sanguinely lifted her head to regard the dancer, Madellaine forced herself to meet Esmeralda's gaze, determined not to look away first.

The look of confusion must have been evident on her face, for Esmeralda parted her lips open slightly to speak, nervously twisting her fingers together. " _And_ ," Esmeralda sighed, just a tinge of resignation and slight annoyance in her husky voice now, "I thought that perhaps, well, since the boy does not know me, that it would look better if, er…you were to come up there with me? Something tells me if I were to go up alone, given I had a hand in humiliating him today, _accident_ though it was, he won't want to see me, but if you come, then maybe I have a chance," she said, biting her bottom lip in anticipation.

Madellaine's hand stayed by her ear as it had been in the midst of yet again tucking back a wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear where it belonged, and she huffed in annoyance, biting the inside wall of her cheek.

"N—no, I—I couldn't!" she exclaimed, trying, and failing to ignore the crestfallen look on Esmeralda's face as the older woman's face fell.

She put her hand over her mouth as she stifled her squeak of surprise as she swore she heard the large oak double doors of the main level of the sanctuary open, as a cold breeze from outside wafted inside.

Madellaine shivered, though not from the cold. Esmeralda stared.

Madellaine thought she caught the familiar sight of a thick-headed tuft of golden blond hair, the shocking yellow of which could rival that of the sun's rays itself.

_The Sun God_ , she thought bitterly, and inwardly groaned.

She _really_ did not want to deal with Phoebus and his antics right now, especially considering the fake engagement feast that was rumored to be waiting for them the moment she returned to the Palace of Justice.

_Damnation_. Madellaine swore internally and immediately chastised herself, having momentarily forgotten she was still inside a House of God. Madellaine flinched as she heard the soldier call her name. "Ugh, why _me_?" she groaned through gritted teeth, with Esmeralda looking like she did not know whether to question the blonde or to be concerned.

The young blonde nervously bit the wall of her cheek and ran her tongue along the top wall of her cheek, not even thinking as she felt her feet move of their own accord and take a few steps backward and up as she slipped into the darkness of the bell ringer's north tower stairwell, pressing her back against the cold cobblestone wall and hiding from the captain.

"Up here!" Madellaine whisper-hissed through gritted teeth, careful to keep her voice low so as to not attract any unwanted attention to them.

If Esmeralda was at all surprised by the oddity of her behavior, she made no remark, for which Madellaine was grateful, and she decided to follow the petite but strange blonde woman's example, copying her movements. She drew in a sharp breath of the cool air that pained her lungs.

"Now what?" Esmeralda whispered lowly the moment that gilded golden-haired soldier boy who she had caught staring during her dance, his hazel eyes crawling all over her backside like that of a blood-sucking leech passed them by, oblivious to the pair of young women hiding in the stairs.

But Madellaine silently pressed a finger to her lips, effectively signaling to the older woman to stay quiet, lest they be discovered here.

She made a motion with her index finger, pointing upwards.

_Up_ , she silently mouthed to Esmeralda and gave a slight jerk of her head, motioning for the Romani woman to follow her as she grumbled darkly to herself. Esmeralda smiled as she caught something along the lines of, "…so many blood stairs…" though the blonde offered no further quip.

"He won't follow us?" Esmeralda whispered, not bothering to tamper down the note of excitement that had seeped into her tone now.

"No," Madellaine responded in a shy, reserved voice barely audible, little more than a whisper that was almost carried away on the bitter Paris breeze that wafted its way up from the main sanctuary and to the tower. "He would be incredibly stupid and foolish to follow us all the way up here, and if Captain de Chateaupers has even an ounce of smarts, he'll stay down there if he knows what's _good_ for him, that is. Something tells me he's the _last_ person he wants to see right now," the blonde growled nervously.

Esmeralda nodded mutely, her legs moving at a brisk pace as she continued the grueling climb up the stone slabs to an unknown place.

_He lives here? My god, but what a lonely existence it must be for this creature! I—I had no idea_. _If I had, I'd have never pulled him up on that stage if I had known who he was_ , Esmeralda thought incredulously, feeling her pupils dilate in the darkness and a crushing guilty weight on her shoulders.

Esmeralda winced.

_I really AM a stupid woman. How could I not have known? Stupid_! A pressure began to build behind her green irises and she swallowed down hard past the growing lump in her throat as it hollowed and constricted.

Esmeralda felt like her throat pounded relentlessly in its cage, threatening to break free, and the pair of women did not stop until they reached a small wooden mezzanine platform, near a closed wooden door. She outstretched a hand for the doorknob and was surprised when Judge Frollo's servant shot out an arm and caught her by the forearm.

Esmeralda froze, her hand on the knob, a look of alarm on her features as she slowly swiveled her head upward and to the left to look at Madellaine. Madellaine grimaced, a pained look in her pale blue orbs.

"Why are you here?" she asked, fixing Esmeralda with a pointed stare. "You did not have to come here, you know," Madellaine murmured.

Esmeralda's expression darkened only slightly. She coughed once to try to tamper down the lump in her throat and straightened her posture. For a moment, she was amused at their height difference and fought back the beginnings of a light-hearted smile as the corners of her mouth twitched.

The young blonde barely came up to her breast, though in her silent, seething fury, the little blonde lass was truly intimidating and not at all a force to be reckoned with, Esmeralda knew. She paused, thinking.

Well, of course, the girl would ask her that. Surely, Madellaine thought Esmeralda had come to further torment the poor boy, undoubtedly, but that could not have been further from the truth.

If Esmeralda were being honest with herself, she was not entirely sure why she had come to this holy place, other than to offer an apology to the boy she had humiliated.

Esmeralda knew she had wanted to see him again and make amends for her despicable behavior, but when she opened her mouth to speak, no other words came out, and she sensed Madellaine was growing annoyed.

Was it to ask the boy questions? No. No, that wasn't what he needed. Esmeralda thought for a moment, biting down on her tongue. She knew she wanted to help him, but in what way, she did not know how she could help, but Esmeralda knew she owed it to the boy to at least try if he would have her company in his home.

Esmeralda sighed. What she did know at the very least, was how she was tired of the way the Parisians treated people like that poor boy, and how they talked of him as if he were a demon, and it had taken the young lass in front of her to realize that if she did not apologize to this boy, to Quasi, then she would regret it for the rest of her natural days on God's given earth until she died.

Sensing Madellaine was still waiting for her answer, Esmeralda slowly inclined her hand, and nervously folded her hands in front of her middle.

"I'm not sure," she confessed, feeling her first genuine smile of the day creep onto her features as she noticed the young blonde's shocked expression. "Maybe…I'm just looking for a friend," Esmeralda confessed.

Madellaine blinked owlishly at her for one minute, two minutes, three. Esmeralda cringed as she watched the young blonde's posture stiffen and her jaws harden and lock up, her blue eyes flashing like that of steel.

She thought for a moment, perhaps the girl might not let her pass.

Madellaine knew without even having to look in a mirror or a shard of broken glass that she certainly looked shocked, though less so than she had expected to be.

After a long moment, a hesitant smile flitted across her features as she returned Esmeralda's smile and she stepped aside to make way for Esmeralda and allow her to open the door to the man's tower.

The young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's lingered in the open doorway for a moment as the Romani woman entered first, and she did not bother to stifle her small smile at hearing Esmeralda's awed gasp of wonder and awe as she took in the simplistic but breathtaking beauty of the bell towers.

Madellaine was still smiling to herself as she crossed the threshold of the stairwell and into Notre Dame's bell ringer's living space, gingerly shutting the door behind her, and following Esmeralda deeper inside. But not as her rival anymore.

As her friend.


	14. A Gargoyle's Advice

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! As usual, I don't own the characters associated with Walt Disney Studios or Victor Hugo's creations or the versions from** **_Der Glockner von Notre Dame_.** **  
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**Chapter Fourteen: A Gargoyle's Advice**

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**QUASI** thought for sure he was mishearing things, given how ringing the proud but massive iron and brass bells of Notre Dame multiple times a day was something of an occupational hazard and had damaged his hearing somewhat, causing a constant ringing in his throbbing eardrums.

He could have sworn he heard the audible sound of a pair of light, delicate footfalls ascending the steps to his tower, but as he cocked his head to the side and strained his ears, closing his eyes to listen for any indication that the noise had come again, he didn't hear it a second time.

The boy almost _growled_ in frustration. Just his luck he had been physically and mentally taxed and tortured to the point of no return, but now, to add further salt to the already tender wound that was his broken heart, he was _hearing_ things now, too?! Was he going touched in the head?

Was _that_ it? He gave his head a curt shake to clear it, though he could not help hearing Master Frollo's voice inside his mind, warning him to be wary of the female sex and their wicked, tempting ways meant to stray the righteousness away from the path that led to Heaven's gates upon death.

"T _he seductions of women will never die, Quasimodo. You must fight these feelings, boy. I cannot help you obtain salvation if you allow yourself to succumb to thoughts of the pleasures of the flesh, my son. A grown boy in both body and mind, already possessing those urges. Fight them, boy_ ," he heard Master Frollo utter.

Even in his mind, there was no warmth in Master's tones. None. Quasi's teeth clenched in annoyance as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He knew the smartest thing to do would be not to get his hopes up, to force this day from his mind as though it were an unpleasant memory.

But Madellaine, she— _No_! He forced his mind to grind to a halt.

He would not think of Master's new hearth keep. He could not, no matter what. He knew the smartest course of action he could possibly take would be to close this chapter of his life and stow in the dark recesses of his mind and lock it tight, never to dwell on the proceedings of today ever again.

He would be doing the girl a kindness by swearing to leave her in the past the moment her petite silhouette had faded from the view of the mezzanine.

Though Quasimodo already knew this would not be easy. As practical as he prided himself on being, he could not stop his mind from dwelling on the way that she had looked at him. As a…. "Friend," he whispered hoarsely, feeling his heartstrings give a painful little tug as it lurched within the confines of his broad chest. Quasimodo drew in a breath of frigid cold air that pained his lungs and burned as it pushed down past the growing lump in his throat, filling the void in his heart. He willed his mind to think of anything else but _her_.

His fists shook and balled desperately as he wound his gloved hands tightly around the balcony's railings, grinding his teeth in sheer annoyance. His broad chest heaving for calm, Quasi squeezed his eyes shut.

 _Don't think of he_ r, he scolded himself. _Just…just don't_. _For your own good._

The bells needed polishing, and a crack that had begun widening in Big Marie's side needed mending with hot lead, but he was dragging his feet at getting his work done, his mind still ruminating over the horrible events of today, and the unmistakable amount of sheer embarrassment and anger he had caused not only Master Frollo by daring to disobey the Judge's orders, but also the girl as well. _Madellaine_ , his conscience reminded her, sounding somewhat harsh.

 _She has a name. Use it. She's your friend now_. At that thought, he blinked, his cobalt blue eyes widening in utter disbelief. Just the utterance of the word 'friend' in his mind plastered a quiet vibration underneath his cursed skin and made it crawl with utter shock.

A loud, boisterous voice from behind him made the bell ringer jump. "Perhaps today wasn't a total loss after all for ya, kid!" Hugo's annoying, grating voice that sounded like nails raking their way down a slab of stone resonated within his tower as his voice cut through the silent air.

Quasi merely grunted wordlessly in response, not sure what to say to that, furrowing his ginger brows in contemplation as a light breeze wafted through his drafty tower loft, lightly brushing his bangs off his forehead.

Notre Dame's bell ringer, for reasons he could not explain, could not quite shake the feeling of dread that crawled its way down his twisted vertebrae, like a spider leaving her gentle trail of silk in her wake as she did.

He was sure, yes, he was sure, that he had seen this girl before, but…

And then it hit him, and poor Quasimodo reeled back, as though someone had doused him in a bucket of ice-cold water. His nightmares.

She was the young blonde woman who burned at the stake and hearing her screams, and how he always failed in his attempts to save her.

His nightmares constantly reminded him of who he was. _What_ he was. _A monster_ , he thought bitterly, clenching his gloved hands into fists, and slowly raking his nails down the front material of his brown hosen.

 _That's all I'll ever be. A monster. Why pretend to be something I'm not_ , he thought, feeling his molars lock together in nervous anticipation. His nightmares of the young blonde woman were more of a night terror because it felt like he might die from the pain in his brain.

He was always desperately trying to wake up, to beg for help, though he never saved her.

But it seemed like it didn't matter anymore. She was _real_ , and his mind was having a difficult time accepting the truth as fact.

His brain wracked with the memory of the young blonde in his tower loft, she who had held his arm and cupped his chin in her hand, her gaze unabashed and unwavering, now that her bright and cheerful disposition had quit the scene of the north bell tower loft, Quasi's heart was a hollow, empty pit.

The skin of his palm, even underneath his glove like this still tingled and burned where she had held onto his hand, had touched him so tenderly, much like a lover would, that he could not begin to fathom it.

Even in her absence, Quasi could still feel Madellaine's presence, hear her laugh, or have a very good idea of the young woman's laugh, at the very least, as though she were right here standing beside him.

As if she were there with her, he saw deep into the depths of her pale blue orbs, felt the gentle embrace of her hand over top his slightly misshapen shoulder. His body tingled still where the pads of her fingertips had touched him, on top of his palms, near the column of his throat and collarbones.

When she had tended his wounds. This celestial-like creature, this angel from his nightmares, she was real, not simply a phantasm that his mind had created to ease the burdens of his miserable, desolate existence.

 _She—she's real_. His mind felt like it was reeling as he pondered over the ending of the Feast of Fools, that while, yes, it had ended in disaster, something good had come out of it. Madellaine had not seemed put off by his monstrous appearance. She was very kind, and if truth be told, quite pretty, though the bell ringer's eyes widened once he realized what was happening to him, where his thoughts were headed, and he gave a curt shake of his head to clear it, letting out a growl of irritation and carding his fingers through his thick tuft of short red hair, wincing as he realized he'd need a trim soon. Sister Alice would have to take care of it for him one of those days.

He bit the wall of his cheek and stared pensively out at the city of Paris and down out into the square, knowing that today was the one and only day that he would ever dare to go out there and explore.

Never again.

Quasi was pulled out of his torpid whirl of conflicting thoughts by the sound of Laverne and Victor's voices as the stone gargoyles hobbled their way out onto the balcony terrace, where their young charge sat stooped, gloved hands curled into tight fists over the balcony railing's beams.

He didn't have to glance over his shoulder to see them hovering. Victor was the first to break the heavy and somewhat awkward silence.

"A true vision of pure loveliness the girl was," he chirped jovially, his eloquent tone optimistic and hoping to steer the conversation in a more pleasant direction and away from the unbelievable torment Quasi had been forced to endure this afternoon. "I think she _likes_ you, Quasimodo."

Hugo looked as though he wanted to argue with his comrade, for he opened his mouth and then promptly closed it, thinking better of it upon seeing both Laverne and Victor shoot him, quite literally, a stony glower.

Again, this was not necessarily enough of a comment to elicit a response, though after what felt like an eternity, the boy lifted his head almost sanguinely and turned to regard the scholarly gargoyle incredulously. "What makes you say that?" he questioned in utter disbelief.

Quasimodo's tone was guarded as he slowly swiveled his head and merely proceeded to fix Hugo with a rather pointed stare

Hugo snorted through his snout and made an odd little strangled noise at the back of his throat as he clucked his tongue in disappointment.

"C'mon, kid, don't play _dumb_ with us, boy!" he scolded in an unusually somber tone, not at all like the nature of the fat stone swine's usually flamboyant nature. "Blondie was eyeballing you, even if you weren't looking and couldn't see it, but _I_ was! That kid likes ya, Quasi!" he grinned.

Quasi glowered at Hugo, carding back that one stubborn lock of coarse, fiery hair out of his eyes, and let out a haggard sounding sigh of defeat. "I… _appreciate_ what you're trying to do for me, Hugo, but it won't _work_ ," he growled, ducking his head in shame, and turning away from them. "Y—yes, she—she was _nice_ , b—but…let's not fool ourselves, guys."

The bitterness and self-loathing were laced throughout the man's quiet, tenor-like tones, that Laverne did not even have to guess as to what his next statement would be, and she felt her heart sink at the boys' words.

"Ugliest face in all of Paris, remember?" he growled bitterly. "I'm not _her_ type or _any_ woman's type, and there's no point in hoping for it."

Laverne furrowed her stone brows into a frown and folded her arms across her chest, noticing the forlorn expression on the young man's face.

The elderly stone gargoyle considered her ability to judge the boy's emotions, what Quasi was thinking and feeling, quite excellent, and she was, considering she had spent over twenty years up here in the tower with the man, and this moment as she watched him in silence was no different.

She could tell the poor boy was greatly disturbed by whatever was ailing him, though whether that was the psychological and physical torment he had suffered at the hands of the Parisian townspeople today or the fact that for the first time in his entire adult life, a woman other than Alice de Beaumont had visited his tower loft had come and gone as she pleased and had even taken it a step further and tended the boy's wounds, and had not looked upon the man with any hint of fear, scorn, or revulsion, she could not say.

The fear of whatever was on poor Quasimodo's mind looped around until Laverne was sure there was room for nothing else.

The 'loop,' Laverne imagined, continued in a vicious sort of cycle, as the wheel of a cart until the wheel stopped moving. These next few hours as she, Victor, and Hugo lay in wake with the boy would either pass as a blip in the course of the young man's life, or they would be the final trauma that completely broke the poor fragile man with a wounded heart.

Laverne's frown deepened as she reached up with a lanky stone arm and pressed her cold stone hand to Quasi's forehead, checking for any signs of warmth, any indication the boy might have a fever or some sort. She did not particularly like the pallid way the boy was looking, how ashen and clammy his face had gone, but was concerning her the most was the look of extreme mortification and sheer, unbridled terror on his face.

"Quasi, what's wrong?" she pressed in her ancient, warbling tone, knowing full well she was going to have to pry the answer out of him. "You wanna tell old Laverne all about it?" she asked, patting his leg.

Laverne flinched at the radiating heat that seemed to emanate off Quasi's skin, like a brick right out of the stokes of a fire. His cheeks burned with the flush of what at first, she thought to be fever, but a closer look revealed that wasn't the case. He was… _angry_. His breaths quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled a sharp breath of cold January air, his lungs having no choice but to take in the chilled air of the outside world.

The poor boy couldn't seem to stop his shaking, either, which in Laverne's mind was new. She exchanged a dark but concerned look with her stone companions. Sometimes it was rough, other times, Quasi could manage, but every time it would seem to Laverne he would start to calm down, a new violent spell of shaking would force his posture to go rigid.

Whatever was happening to Quasimodo, it wasn't bloody good, and Laverne heard herself sigh as she felt the boy gingerly but firmly wind his strong, ironclad grip around her stony wrist and pry her hand away from his forehead. "Maybe he's sick?" questioned Victor, trying to be helpful.

Quasi responded in kind by barely repressing the urge to roll his eyes. "N—no, I—I'm _not_ sick, Victor," he stammered, sounding more tired than the gargoyles had ever heard him in their lives. He noticed the three stone companions' doubtful expression and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry, sardonic little half-smile. "I promise. I'm _not_."

Laverne remained unconvinced, however, as she knitted her brows together, not at all fazed by Quasimodo's gentle words of reassurance.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right, Quasi? You're looking…peaky. Flushed," Laverne murmured as she thoughtfully tapped her chin. "Have you taken ill? Perhaps the next time that nun comes up to bring you supper, she could give you something to bring down your temperature."

But Quasi flinched and turned his head sharply to the left to avoid her gaze, hanging his head and allowing that damned stubborn lock of his fiery red hair to hang in front of his eyes, effectively shielding his vision from that which he did not wish to see, which, in this case, was Laverne.

She harumphed and huffed in frustration, and this would have been the part where if she would have had feet, she would have stomped one.

It seemed to take the boy an eternity to find his voice and confess to his companions what was bothering him, and it did not escape Laverne's attention that he pointedly refused to meet their gazes, painfully wringing his gloved hands together.

"I…I… _hurt_ her, you guys, a—and I…don't know what to do about it," Quasi stammered as his breaths caught in his throat, and he swallowed down hard past the lump in his throat as he drew in a breath of cold air. He knew it would be better for all parties involved if he were to just tell the truth, and judging by the pensive, thoughtful looks on his guardians' stony expressions, they were patiently waiting for him to speak.

The bell ringer let out an aggravated sigh and launched into an abbreviated version of his nightmares, how the blonde angel was real, and the very same person who had visited his tower not even fifteen minutes ago, was…her. By the time he had finished, he ducked his head in shame.

Victor, as usual, was the first to break the awkward silence as the boy allowed his confession to hang in the air between the four of them out here at the top of the world on the balcony terrace. "Perhaps it's a vision?"

Quasi shook his head numbly and offered no verbal response, instead favoring silence as an apt response as the man pursed his lips.

"It's _not_ ," he managed to croak out hoarsely. "I…I don't know anymore…" But his voice trailed off and he did not bother to complete what he was thinking.

Anguished, the boy let out an agonized moan and buried his head in his gloved hands. When he spoke, considering his head remained buried in his hands, his voice to the three stone gargoyles sounded faint. Muffled.

"Have I _done_ something, _said_ something to God to make Him despise me so? Why—why is this _happening_ to me, you guys? What do my dreams of her _mean_? By God's good graces, why does He hate me so much?" he demanded, lifting his head from his hands and blearily gazing at the three stone figures in front of him with a look of helplessness.

Laverne offered a short, curt nod in response, something in her beady, stony eyes glistening as she proceeded to rest her chin in her hands. "No one _hates_ you, Quasi, so don't talk about yourself like this, do you understand?" Laverne chastised. " _We_ don't hate you," she added darkly, her gaze flitting to Victor and Hugo for confirmation and support here, and the pair quickly nodded their agreement. "That girl who paid you a visit earlier does not seem to hate you, Quasimodo. It was just a _dream_ , Quasi," she murmured rather numbly. "The girl is fine. You saw it for yourself with your own two eyes, kid. Your new friend? She's _fine_ …"

Though even as Laverne heard the words uttered from her own mouth, the stone gargoyle could not help but flinch at her statement.

She could not quite explain it, but the simple fact of the matter was that the fact that this blonde slip of a lass was Judge Claude Frollo's hearth keep. It did not sit well with Laverne at all, though she knew if she were prompted by the boy for an answer, she would not be able to give him one.

And this bothered her. More than Laverne ever cared to admit it, and until she could figure out why this was, she saw no reason to trouble the boy any further with an explanation, when she wasn't even sure if it warranted getting so upset over, but she could tell, she had already succeeded in upsetting him even further as she heard the boy make a noise.

Laverne could only watch as the boy processed her words, her heartstrings giving a painful little pang and she felt a stab of pity for the lonesome and isolated bell ringer currently slumped against the stone wall of the balcony's terrace, currently carding his fingers through his red hair.

Quasi sanguinely lifted his head, his mind processing his friend's words. He heard the antagonism in Laverne's warbling tone and felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, that he knew had nothing to do with the frigid winter air. It was _not_ Laverne's voice.

She may have said this just to reassure his frayed nerves, but that was not his guardian's voice. It was much too listless and flat! It did not sound like Laverne at all. Her voice was entirely too flat and emotionless, and then…it hit him.

Laverne, and Hugo and Victor for that matter, did not believe him.

Quasi bit the wall of his cheek and ran his tongue along the top wall of his teeth and felt a myriad of emotions hit him squarely in his strong, broad chest. Hurt, anger, confusion, sadness, betrayal at the stone figures' disbelief and rejection of his claims that his nightmares were real somehow.

He was sure he had never felt such a pain in his chest like this before until now, and matters were only made worse when Victor queried him.

"Are you all right, Quasimodo?" he questioned politely, raising his stone eyebrows in alarm upon seeing how rapidly his face drained of color.

Quasi flinched instinctively at the stone gargoyle's question, just as another light night breeze tousled his hair off his forehead. Of all the things he had imagined his companions would ask, this was…not exactly it.

Was he all right? Was he _all right_?! No, he wasn't all right.

What a question! He had been dreaming of this mysterious blonde woman for days on end without fail for the last several weeks, maybe even going on months, unable to shake the scent of honeysuckle and eucalyptus from his senses when he woke from his nightmares bathed in a cold sweat, and now, to make matters worse for himself, he discovered today that she was very much real and very much life and not a phantasm of his imagination.

 _And she's Master's servant_ , his conscience reminded unhelpfully, though before he could ponder this revelation further, Hugo spoke up.

The flamboyant gargoyle was unnaturally grim and somber, something of a rarity for the stone creature, and Quasi knew whenever he got in a mood like this, that it must be serious for the stone figure to have such a shift in his countenance.

"You say these dreams of the girl are no ordinary dreams," he began slowly and cautiously, as though he were speaking to Quasi when he was twelve-years-old and not a grown man of almost twenty-one years.

Quasi nodded mutely, not sure where Hugo was going with this.

"Then…if it's no dream, then do _something_ to _fix_ it," Hugo urged. He did not quite know as he spouted out his advice what kind of reaction he had been expecting from the boy, but pure unbridled terror wasn't it.

His face became ashen, beads of sweat forming along his brow, and his face suddenly turned an interesting shade of green, as though he were about to be sick. Hugo persisted. " _Help_ that girl, Quasi. Be her _friend_."

Hugo cursed himself internally for what he was about to say next, to goad the boy into anger like this was not exactly his preferred method of eliciting the desired response from the man, but the three of them had to know just how far he was willing to go for the blonde lass who'd helped him out, and he could tell Victor and Laverne were thinking of this, too.

"H— _how_?" Quasimodo demanded hotly, flinching, hating hearing the crack, and dip in his voice as it wavered and broke. "I—I can't go out there again, you saw what happened out there today, you guys! I—I can't _help_ her, Hugo. E—even I—if she—she is in danger, what would I say to her if she comes back? That I've been having _dreams_ of her? I don't see that going over so well with her, do you three?" he snapped, hearing anger drip from his words as poisoned venom as it seeped into his tenor like tones. Quasi fell silent for a moment and ducked his head, drawing in a shuddering breath before continuing. "I…I _can't_."

The last word left him as a reluctant, half-choked sob, and he further lowered his head, ashamed.

Hugo silently bristled, wracking his brain and his one working brain cell to try to find some way to make the bell ringer see that he was wrong.

"If you don't…find some way to help that girl, then…" _God save me, here it goes_ , he thought sadly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Then you're nothing but a coward, Quasimodo. I thought we had taught you better."

Almost instantly, his poisonous words had hit their mark, and Hugo flinched as the boy's head whiplashed sharply upward to regard Hugo, a lock of shock and anger flitting across his pale face as his lips parted open.

As he slowly rose to his feet, now towering over the three stone companions and fixing Hugo with a pointed glower that caused the fat horned swine to swallow nervously, he wouldn't put it past the boy to grab him by the horns or give him one good swift kick and roll him off the balcony's ledge to plummet to the cobblestones below, where he'd shatter.

Hugo squeezed his beady eyes tightly shut, waiting for the fateful kick off the ledge that would surely spell his doom and the end of his existence. But that moment for the fat stone gargoyle never even came. Quasi stood towering over his three stone companions, a look of antagonized hurt evident upon his slightly misshapen features as he wracked his brain, struggling to think of something to say to Hugo.

But nothing came. He knew that, deep down, Hugo was right. He was a coward, and he did not know what to do to help Madellaine at all.

He parted his lips open to speak until a noise deep within his tower loft interrupted whatever hateful retort Quasi had been about to say next. The three-stone gargoyles and the bell ringer fell silent, all of them wide-eyed and confused as they thought they'd heard a strange noise.

Quasi instinctively stiffened, hoping it wasn't another kid come up to his tower to catch a glimpse of the 'monster,' that 'demon,' that 'man.'

But then he heard the unmistakable creaking of the floorboards on the lower level of the mezzanine and a girl's familiar light, tinkling laugh. His ears practically perked up at the sound of Master Frollo's servant's voice, and Quasi did not bother to stifle the small but crooked smile that crept onto his features.

She…she had come back. It was _her_!

Madellaine had promised him that she would return, though he had been led to believe that considering the sun was setting below the horizon and the sky outside was only getting darker as night fell, that she had returned back with Master or one of his soldiers to the Palace of Justice.

And then he heard her voice, that almost made him jump, wanting nothing more than to immediately hide for cover, thinking that the other girl, La Esmeralda, had merely come to his tower to humiliate him again.

Quasimodo stiffened, grinding his teeth in annoyance and fear. He did not think he could face La Esmeralda again a second time. Not after…

" _That_ ," he whispered hoarsely, and darted to the left and right, looking for a place to hide, not wanting the Romani woman to find him.

He darted back into the tower and raced towards the top ledge of the wooden platform of the upper level of the mezzanine that led into his living loft, and he froze, having suspected and fearing the worst, and look!

From below, he could see two someone's, both feminine figures, and both women that he recognized, walking in through the door, and he was quick to note that right away, the dancer that had pulled him on the stage did not look at all pleased to see that the noise had made such a racket.

Quasi flinched, drawing in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as he swore the ebony-haired dancer's gaze flitted to the top of the mezzanine. A surge of adrenaline and panic coursed through his veins as he wildly looked to the left and right as he swore her emerald eyes brightened upon landing on his silhouette, and she had sensed the two of them were no longer alone.

She—she had _seen_ him! It didn't even matter that Madellaine had come up with her, he did not think he could face La Esmeralda a second time, and he was hardly aware of the gargoyles hobbling up from behind.

"Quasi? A—are you up here, my friend? I—I came back. I hope…it's ok," came Madellaine's soft voice, a susurration, wafting up the tower loft, her tone light and tinkling like the soft chimes of a million bells.

Hugo, unbeknownst to the pair of women below, was the first to break the silence as he whispered in a hushed but excited tone. "Damsel alert!" he grinned, looking towards Victor and Laverne for confirmation.

"A lovely vision at that. It's your friend, Quasimodo, and she's brought someone with her this time, it seems," Victor chimed in eagerly.

Quasi let out a low, mournful whimper laced to the brim with fear as he swore, damaged hearing or not notwithstanding, the women's footfalls coming closer to the wooden ladder that led towards his humble abode.

The gargoyles were looking especially pleased amongst themselves that their young charge had now not one, but _two_ women in his tower loft.

Laverne snorted and shot a withering look at Hugo's way, folding her stone arms across her chest. "What am I, Hugo, chopped liver, huh?"

If the sound of his companions arguing amongst themselves resonated within his tower, the women were completely unaware of this.

Madellaine's voice once again reached his eardrums, and he froze. "I—I brought E—Esmeralda up with me, Quasimodo. Sh—she wants to apologize to you. Will you let us come up?" the girl whispered.

The gargoyles' eyes, particularly Hugo's, widened in surprise as he turned towards the spot where Quasi had been standing near the ladder.

"Got the girls chasing you, already, huh? Knew you had it in you! They want _you_ , Quasi, aren't you gonna say something to them, kid?!"

Only to find that their charge had hightailed it to the nearest hiding place he could think of, which in this case, happened to be behind a thick woolen tarp behind a rather large stone statue of the head of Moses.

Madellaine and Esmeralda were out there, searching, listening for him. One movement, one involuntary gasp of surprise and it was all over.

Quasi felt the sting of blood as he bit down on his tongue hard enough that soon the metallic tang of copper filled his nostrils as it lingered on his tongue and palate. He was debating whether or not he was having a panic attack or a heart attack as a shudder ran up and down his twisted spine.

Trapped. He was well and bloody trapped with those two women. Madellaine he wasn't too concerned with. Truth be told, he was delighted to see her again, however briefly, though it was the other, the young Romani dancer, that he was not sure how the woman would react.

It was only a matter of time before one of them found his hiding place. All it would take was one swift tug of the curtain to pull back and—

"Quasi?" came Madellaine's voice, sounding much more subdued and closer than she had before, and he almost tripped and fumbled over the large stone statue of Moses's head as he staggered backward in shock.

His heart thrummed in his chest, pounding relentlessly against its cage until he thought it would break free. Everything wasn't fine at all.

That woman, why was _she_ here?! What did she _want_ with him? She should not be up here! _Damn_. Quasimodo's thoughts were swirling around in his tired head as he bit the inside wall of his cheek in a nervous fit.

His mind felt like it was racing, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon as he drew in a hitched breath, a relatively poor attempt to calm himself, as a gloved, shaking hand found its way to his red hair as he raked his fingers through his hair nervously. He could not let himself be discovered by Esmeralda. Nothing good would come of it, of this, he was sure, even if Madellaine had ventured up here with that woman.

Quasi stiffened as he heard Madellaine's boots walk to his left, and when there had been enough of a pause in sound, he dared to peek his head out from behind the curtain and look for the next available hiding spot, ducking out from his safe sanctuary, though in minutes, warm hands were restraining him, effectively preventing him making a run for it.

Madellaine. He swallowed down hard nervously past the lump in his throat as his skittish, wide, unblinking pale blue orbs met the blonde's gaze.

The young blonde hearth keep reached up a hand to steady his slightly wobbling gait as he almost fell over in his effort to flee from her. "It's all right, my friend, neither of us is going to hurt you. You are safe with us. I...I promise, Quasimodo," Madellaine whispered in a voice smoother than silk, though as she opened her mouth to speak further, whatever she had been about to say next to her new friends died on her tongue when _she_ appeared.

Quasi let out a tiny whimper as he blearily lifted his chin and met her gaze. It was her. The dancer, La Esmeralda, and she was looking at him with a look that he could only perceive as one of nervousness and hatred.

And this time, Madellaine could not stop it from happening again. Tersely, his gaze flickered from Madellaine to La Esmeralda, with Madellaine shooting him looks of concern for his physical well-being, and the other woman held an unreadable expression. Was it pity? Loathing?

He couldn't be sure, but what he did know, was that he did not want to be here right now in the young ebony-haired Romani's presence.

Quasi started to fear for the worst by the way Esmeralda was looking at him…


	15. In the Bell Tower

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! As usual, I don't own the characters. It's here where I've done some major tinkering to the events of the movie, but as I said, I don't want this to be a carbon copy of the first movie, and considering this is a blend of the two movies of sorts, this is where things start to deviate a bit more from the events of the first movie, so I hope you enjoy it!**

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**Chapter Fifteen: In the Bell Tower**

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**THE** bell tower was not exactly what Esmeralda had been expecting, though if the young dancer was being honest with herself, she did not know what exactly to expect. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest as the young blonde had led her up a wooden ladder towards the upper level of a mezzanine, and as her eyes slowly but surely adjusted to the darkness, Esmeralda felt her piercing green eyes widen in utter shock.

It had been too dark to get a good look at her surroundings before, given that the staircase had been pitch black, most of the lighted torches in their sconces having gone out long before she and Madellaine had begun the grueling climb up the stone stairwell that led to the boy's bell towers. Esmeralda was beginning to feel rather nervous.

She was hoping that Madellaine would have merely escorted her to the top of the tower and waited for her near the entrance. She had hoped to apologize to the boy in private, though it was looking increasingly likely that this was not to be the case, that she was going to have to apologize in front of the pair of them.

She inhaled a deep breath of bitter cold January air and nervously brushed the palms of her hands on the skirts of her deep purple dress.

"I—I'm so _sorry_ about this afternoon," Esmeralda began uneasily, feeling beads of sweat form on her browbone as she took in the man's nervous demeanor, and if, she wasn't mistaken, slightly angry expression.

The man's glistening cerulean blue orbs were laced to the brim with an antagonizing hurt and a sense of betrayal at her presence within his home, she who had played an unwilling and unknowing hand in humiliating him today at the Feast of Fools. She could only pray to God if He even listened to an outcast's prayer like hers that he would forgive her.

She hoped that this man would allow her to explain that she truly had no idea who he really was, and if she had _known_ , she wouldn't have done it, though it was becoming harder for her to speak as tears blurred in her eyes, welling and threatening to spill over if she couldn't control herself. Esmeralda had fully anticipated the boy would interrupt her, yell at her, even, refuse to let her speak and demand she vacate his tower loft, but Quasimodo did no such thing. He remained silent; his posture guarded. His shoulders were stiff, his arms held out in front of her despite the reassuring and gentle touch of Madellaine's hand on his right shoulder.

Nevertheless, despite the creature's countenance unnerving her, she owed it to the boy to apologize. It was, after all, why she had come here.

"I—I had no _idea_ who you were. I—I would n—never in my life have pulled you up on the….stage…" Esmeralda mumbled, her breath momentarily stolen away as a shimmer of light nearby caught the corner of her eye, pulling her attention away from the nervous bell ringer and the young blonde servant of Judge Claude Frollo.

The loft's beauty stole her breath away, now that her eyes adjusted, and she could see a little better. Somewhat reluctantly, Esmeralda forced herself to tear her gaze away from her newfound surroundings and back towards the bell ringer. Her cheeks flushed as she felt her eyebrows furrow in a light frown and began absently twisting one of the rings on her fingers, spoils from men who had admired her performance earlier as their token of payment.

"I—I came up to tell you that I am sorry, for this morning. Very sorry, my friend. Will you forgive me?" Esmeralda pleaded desperately, biting her bottom lip as she stuck it out in a slight pout and waiting.

Quasimodo hesitated, not at all sure how to react, and when Esmeralda took a cautious half step forward, it pained her heart greatly to see the young redhaired man instantly flinch away from her approach with a gasp as he instinctively brought his hands towards his face, shielding himself from a potential strike from Esmeralda in case she was angry.

Though the moment he heard her sigh in exasperation, he lowered his arms, though apprehensively, noticing Madellaine shoot him a pitying look out of the corner of his eyes, and he flinched, as he mutely nodded.

"I—I forgive you," he whispered, hoarsely, and almost sanguinely lifted his head to look at the young dancer across the way.

She certainly looked as though she were remorseful of what had transpired. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink and she seemed too nervous to eye him for long. At first, he had assumed the girl's lack of eye contact to be the product of her not wanting to look upon his grotesque, hideous form for any longer than was necessary, and for that, Quasi could not fault the girl.

But then he realized her avoidance was simply due to her embarrassment at the precarious position she had placed him in earlier today by pulling him up on the stage without really asking for his permission first. Her brows had come together in a rather troublesome scowl that would have otherwise looked comical if it didn't make his heart feel heavy. He wracked his brain, trying to think of something to say to make her feel better, though, in truth, he did not know why she had come.

To apologize, yes, perhaps, but Quasi sensed there was more to it.

"I—I k—knew you'd p-probably come to see me," he stammered, and he froze when he recognized Esmeralda had been staring at his figure. Esmeralda winced, knowing full well she was being rude, and she was the last person to talk about manners, but she had not come here to stare at the boy as though he were some exotic creature in a cage in a zoo.

He hesitated, biting the inside wall of his cheek, and ran his tongue along the top wall of his teeth before asking the question that was really on his mind. "Why…why are you _here_?" he murmured quietly, his hackles raising instinctively, and he hoped he wouldn't blame her for his reaction.

The slightly accusing and nervousness must have been evident in his tones, for it elicited a reaction out of Madellaine, her hand on his shoulder, and sending a strange feeling of fiery warmth through his body.

"Quasimodo!" Madellaine exclaimed, interrupting her new friend before the young bell ringer could so much as get another word in edgewise. "She _isn't_ here to hurt you, and neither am I," she said kindly. "She came up here to apologize to you, Quasi," Madellaine soothed.

Esmeralda watched, interested, as the young blonde hearth keep gave the man's shoulder a light reassuring squeeze before dropping her hand, and she bit the wall of her cheek as it looked as though Judge Frollo's hearth keep was of a mind to put her hand back on his shoulder, for Esmeralda saw the fingers of her hand twitched, though Madellaine quickly balled her fingers into a fist and kept her trembling hand at her side.

Peculiar behavior, though she had no time to ponder it as Quasi spoke, effectively pulling her out of her stunned thoughts of the girl.

"I…I don't…I didn't…I—I am s—sorry f-for f-frightening you," he murmured, whispering his confession as though it were a hushed secret. His slight stutter, Esmeralda guessed, stemmed from a place of nervousness, which she couldn't blame him for, not really, considering she and Madellaine were perhaps the first women he had ever really talked to, much less met, and she felt a stab of pity prick at her heartstrings for him.

There was no denying that Quasimodo was deformed, yes, and she knew it. The boy's shyness was telling enough, having spent the majority of his life, though his brilliant sky blue eyes were kind, his demeanor warm. It seemed to take the poor lad an eternity to find his voice again, and when he did manage to speak, his tenor-like voice was so soft, that Esmeralda had to lean forward to hear.

"I—I forgive you, Esmeralda."

She nodded, feeling the excitement well within her chest rapidly, though a small pang of hesitation still rested inside her heart, despite having heard the man accept her apology. Esmeralda did not want to frighten the poor man any more than he surely already was tonight, so she decided that she would be cautious for now. It was the least she could do.

"Thank you. And you must be Quasimodo, yes?" Esmeralda questioned, offering the bell ringer a brief incline of her head in respect.

The boy stiffened at first at the gesture, though it seemed to calm him down, and she could not help but notice with the beginnings of an affectionate smile that snaked onto her face that the man kept shooting interested glances at the young blonde out of the corner of his good eye.

She let a tiny chuckle escape her lips as she watched in silence.

 _There's something more between those two brewing. I can sense it._ Esmeralda drew in a sharp breath as the few candles that had been lighted and scattered throughout the man's loft danced over his unique form, the jittery light made the shadows cast by the boy's body look even more monstrous in this dim lighting than he actually was, and Esmeralda cursed herself for momentarily becoming frightened by the man's shadow. He tugged nervously at the sleeve of the long-sleeved linen undershirt he wore underneath his thick green woolen tunic in distress.

For a moment, Esmeralda wondered if she had made a mistake in coming here to apologize, perhaps thinking it would be best if she just left. She noticed that the moment she took a step backward, his shoulders relaxed, and she heard the young blonde let out a sigh of relief.

The bell ringer blinked owlishly in shock at Esmeralda's question, though he was quick and the first to recover. "Y—yes, that's my name."

He was stuttering less now, Esmeralda noticed, so that had to be a good sign, right? Esmeralda smiled encouragingly and looked around in wonderment at the man's tower loft, trying to take in her new environment.

"Wh—what an amazing place," she breathed, having to crane her neck this way and that to try to take in the simplistic beauty of the loft. "You—you live here all alone?" Esmeralda asked, her gaze flitting towards Quasimodo, who seemed as though he were fighting the urge to dart back into the shadows behind the curtain where Madellaine had found him, who, she noticed, was looking rather apprehensive on the man's behalf.

Esmeralda kept her gaze fixated at the upper level of the mezzanine at the seemingly dozens, perhaps hundreds of massive, proud iron and brass bells of Notre Dame that the bellringer rang faithfully every morning.

"Whole life," she heard Quasimodo's soft, tenor-like tone answer, so faint that she almost thought that the boy hadn't spoken a word at all.

Their ropes dangled above their heads like snakes on a vine, and when she finally averted her gaze from above her, her neck starting to get a crick, Esmeralda froze when she saw the table across the staircase, framed by a few discarded and long-forgotten statues, weathered with age and the elements, and a stack of shelves full of assorted knick-knacks to her right. Even in the practically non-existent light as night outside continued to fall, occasionally throwing in shafts of moonlight through one of the rafter beams, Esmeralda as she drew closer towards the wooden table and pulled off the green woolen tarp that covered the table understood she was looking at a diorama of the entire city and likeness of the City of Lovers.

"This is _beautiful_ ," she whispered, reaching out a hand to clasp onto an exquisitely carved figurine of the baker and the blacksmith, examining it. After a moment or two of eyeing each figurine, marveling at the level of detail, skill, time, and effort the boy must have taken in crafting such a masterpiece, a true work of art, Esmeralda straightened her posture and looked back towards Quasimodo and Madellaine, both of whom flinched. She inwardly cringed at their shared reaction as she refocused her attention solely on Notre Dame's bell ringer. He almost wished she didn't.

Esmeralda could not help as she looked upon the cowering man practically quaking in his boots where he stood, too nervous to eye her for too terribly long, she noticed, though he seemed somewhat calmed by the young blonde's presence, and Esmeralda, perceptive as she was, sensed a growing bond of friendship, and perhaps even something more between them, though what that 'thing' or those 'things' might be, only they knew.

She could tell the boy was intently watching her movements, as was Madellaine, who, Esmeralda noticed, was regarding her somewhat distrustfully, which she couldn't help but feel the younger girl's fears unfounded and not at all necessary. "Another human's touch shouldn't hurt." The words were out of her mouth before Esmeralda could even think about stopping herself, and she inwardly cursed her stupidity and mentally slapping herself for overstepping her boundaries with this boy.

Esmeralda noticed how red the boy's face flushed in embarrassment, and the young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's as well, though hers was a look of anger, once again that the young Romani could not place it. "You have a lovely home," Esmeralda managed to croak out after a few minutes in tense, uncomfortable silence, swallowing down hard past the growing lump in her throat nervously. "It must be a wonderful place to live, Quasimodo," she sighed, unable to keep the note of jealousy out of her voice.

 _Home_. Esmeralda froze, feeling suddenly rooted to her spot. Something she had not had in a long time. She and Clopin's Court of Miracles were constantly moving, always roaming, never lingering in one place for too long. She did not know how long she would remain in Paris.

"Yes," he spoke shyly after a moment's hesitation, though a mischievous but shy grin slowly crept onto his twisted features as he smiled at the pair of women. "But up here in winter, very cold," he joked weakly. A beat or two passed before Esmeralda looked towards the bell ringer again, her gaze was once more drawn to the bells high above her head.

"I never knew there were so many," she murmured thoughtfully, lowering her head to notice both Quasimodo and Madellaine regarding her, their demeanor pensive for some reason. Well, the boy's was. Less so _hers_. The young blonde's features were rapidly paling, her face almost turning an interesting shade of green, her lips pursed into such a thin line that for a moment, Esmeralda wondered if the girl was about to be sick.

Quasimodo, if he noticed the sudden shift in his new friend's countenance, was oblivious to Madellaine's obviously growing discomfort. "Would you like to see them?" he asked, a note of eagerness in his voice now, and the bell ringer did not bother to tamper down the growing excitement that had begun spreading in the confines of his chest and down to the very tips of his toes in his brown leather boots, warming his body.

The girls exchanged a brief look with one another before Madellaine silently nodded her head in agreement, latching onto the boy's arm for support, her fingers curling around the material of his linen undershirt underneath his thick green woolen tunic for support as she climbed up the ladder to the topmost level of the mezzanine, gawking at all the iron bells. Madellaine was the first to break the silence before Esmeralda had a chance to speak.

"There's nothing we'd love more. Right?" she asked, biting down on her bottom lip and casting a skittish glance towards Esmeralda. Esmeralda did not particularly enjoy the suspicious looks she was on the receiving end of the young blonde.

She made a mental note to perhaps address it later with the girl when the two were alone.

The look she was giving her was strange. It was almost as if she were trying to silently ask Esmeralda if she held… _intentions_ towards this boy. Which was, in all honesty, the furthest thing from the truth. Quasimodo seemed kind enough, but the boy was admittedly, not her type. Esmeralda and Madellaine stood side by side with one another while the bell ringer proudly showed off his bells, motioning for the women to follow him with a curt wave of his arm.

"Follow me. I'll introduce you." As Quasi turned his back on the statuesque brunette and the petite blonde hearth keep of Master Frollo's, he could not help but think how drastically different both women were, and yet, the fact remained alone that this was the longest period of time another woman save for Alice had been up in his tower loft, and for him to show these two his bells was perhaps his biggest life moment yet.

He hoped he wouldn't regret it.

A cold sweat glistened on his furrowed ginger brows. With his gloved hands clasped tightly in front of his stomach, he constantly fiddled with his knuckles, weaving his fingers in and out of each other in fear. Panic seemed to claw its way up into his throat and wind its icy tendrils around the column of his throat, and for a moment, Quasi swore he felt the familiar burning and stinging sensation of the ropes those soldiers and peasants had lassoed around his neck earlier this afternoon.

The girl stood near the edge of the wooden platform, though the moment Notre Dame's bell ringer turned around to regard the pair of them, Madellaine was the first to lock eyes with the man and she smiled.

It took him a moment to return the gesture, but the second that he did, his smile was that of a warm sunset, causing Madellaine's heart to flutter unexpectedly against its cage, so damned audibly loud she swore that Esmeralda, who was standing next to her, could _hear_ it, and she blanched.

The pair of women slowly but steadily followed the bell ringer towards the center of the wooden platform, having to lift the hems of the skirts of their dresses in order to mind their step, considering that the old wooden floorboards creaked horribly in some places, and rather uneven, parted in gaping, dangerous ways that you could easily fall through and injure yourself, perhaps even sprain or twist your ankle if you weren't careful, and Madellaine barely stifled her tiny groan as she forced herself to try not to look down.

It wasn't necessarily that she had a fear of heights, per se, but rather, she did not want to inadvertently step through one and fall, plummeting to the floor below and break her foot in the process.

Madellaine let out a tiny squeak as she very nearly came close to fulfilling that observation as she felt her body beginning to lean the moment her boot accidentally stepped down and bore too much weight on one of the gaping floorboards, and she would have fallen through if not for a pair of strong gloved hands wrapping themselves around her waist and almost violently pulling her back.

A hand over her racing heart, she gasped. She swiveled her head to her immediate left to notice Quasimodo eyeing her with an apprehensive, nervous look.

"Y—you are a—all right?" he asked, stammering over his words.

"Y—yes, I am, thank you, you saved me from a nasty fall, Quasimodo," Madellaine gasped, her breaths coming to her in short, gasping spurts as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried her absolute hardest to avoid looking down. "You're very strong," she grinned. Madellaine watched, a hint of amusement twinkling in her eyes as a light pink blush speckled along Quasi's cheeks as he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders in a casual manner as if to say to her, it was no trouble at all.

Awestruck, the young blonde craned her neck this way and that, taking in the majestic beauty of the man's beloved bells, his children, in a way. "Do all of the bells have names?" she wondered out loud, pondering if the talk in town was true. The rumors afoot that he had named the bells.

Quasi nodded by way of response as he sauntered over, walking with his rather lumbering gait and with a slight limp, Esmeralda and Madellaine noticed pitiably, though before either girl could comment on it, he spoke. "Yes. This one here is Big Marie," he murmured, running a gloved hand over the smooth surface of what Madellaine knew to be the largest bell. He raised a hand and pointed towards a few others. "My favorite bell, though the others can't know," he grinned. And those are Jean-Marie, Ann-Marie, and Louise-Marie. Triplets, you know," he joked. Madellaine slowly nodded her head as Quasi listed off the names of a few others. There was Jacqueline, whose clapper needed to be fixed before the morrow.

The question burned on the tip of her tongue, longing to be asked. "How do you fix these bells? I imagine it must take a lot of work to fix all their cracks, yes?" Madellaine asked, letting the question roll off her tongue as she reached up a hand to stroke the cracked and yet still somehow smooth surface of the magnificent bell, the pads of her fingertips ghosting along the widened crack in Marie's rightmost side. The bell was cold to the touch under her palm, but it was not necessarily an unpleasant feeling. She decided she liked it, the feeling it gave.

"Hot lead," Quasi answered simply and matter-of-factly, though he startled as the girls immediately had adverse reactions to this revelation and watched in a stunned stupor as the girls clutched at one another in shock and awe.

" _Hot lead_?!" protested Esmeralda, feeling her face drain in shock.

All it would take was one accident or spill of the practically boiling molten lava and the entire bell tower loft up here would surely be set on fire, then! She could have sworn she heard Madellaine whimper at the news, and it did not take a scholar to know that she was thinking the same thing.

Esmeralda was surprised at the closeness of the embrace, considering not even a moment ago, for reasons unknown to her, the blonde had looked ready to grow fangs and dig them into the column of her throat simply for looking at Quasi in a way that seemed to cause her grievance, though she did not have any time to ponder the behavior.

He nodded eagerly this time. "Yes, I can show you, but I wouldn't get too close. It's very, _very_ hot, it's why I wear these," he smiled, briefly flashing his gloved hands towards the girls before turning towards the bell Madellaine and Esmeralda had heard him call Little Sophia, his favorite.

"Oh, Sophia!" Madellaine squeaked happily, remembering the kitchen wench back at the Palace of Justice who she was steadily becoming fast friends with.

She would surely be delighted to learn a bell was named after her. The young blonde swallowed nervously as her blush intensified as the bell ringer quirked a questioning brow her way but said nothing. Mortified at her unexpected outburst, Madellaine quickly averted her gaze, though she immediately swiveled her head back when Esmeralda spoke up, her husky voice low and contemplative.

"Will they sing for us?"

Madellaine drew in a sharp breath of frigid cold air that pained her lungs as she turned her gaze back towards Quasi, who was looking pleased. As if to say that he thought the girls would never ask for a demonstration. His nervousness, Madellaine was pleased to note, seemed to dissipate the longer he spent in their company, which was a good thing. Grasping the rope firmly in his gloved hands, Quasi turned his back on the pair of women, though not before looking back once over his shoulder and shooting the girls a rather lopsided but quite shy smile.

"M—Madellaine, E—Esmeralda, y—you might want to cover your ears. I—it can be very loud if you're not used to it," he warned, dipping into the pocket of his tunic and stuffing a wad of what looked like bedding material from his mattress into his ear as a sort of barrier from the noise.

The boy's smile was one of happiness growing, Esmeralda affectionately noticed as she felt the edges of her lips curling upward, returning the gesture as she noticed out of the corner of her peripherals Madellaine doing the same, and she promptly clamped her hands over her ears. She could see how it came from deep inside to light his blue eyes and spread into every part of him.

A person smiles with more than their mouth. Esmeralda heard it in the man's soft, tenor-like voice, in the choice of his words, and the way he relaxed.

His smile was that of a warm sunset. Truly beautiful. Esmeralda glanced towards Madellaine, intrigued by her. She could tell by the young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's held herself that she was rather timid and shy, and quite insecure. Her shoulders were hunched over as if hiding the treasure inside of her as Madellaine followed Esmeralda's lead in covering her ears to protect her hearing.

Her footsteps were light and timid as she took a staggering step backward with the first hard tug on the rope that Quasimodo gave, not hearing him grunt with the effort to pull on it to coax the resonating, gentle tolls from the bells, not hearing him talk to the bells to make the music he so desired. Esmeralda let out a muffled yelp as the sound grew louder, reverberating off the walls of the man's tower loft as he rang the bells for the girls.

She guessed it made sense for the bells to be so huge. For their sound poured through the bell tower and out onto the balcony terrace, down into the town square and flooding it with the music as if it were a special sort of thunder, one that could laugh for you.

Those bell peals danced as if the sound itself twirled through the walls and windows. The sound was musical and magical, were as echoes of giggles, of the sounds of children as they form their bonds in play.

"So _loud_!" Madellaine shouted over the noise, wincing, and squeezing her eyes shut as the echoes continued to reverberate off the walls though they slowly died down. Quasi turned to look at the girls.

"What?" he asked, a furrowed look of confusion on his face, and for a fraction of a second, Madellaine froze, her face draining in shock.

Gingerly, she lowered her hands and bit the wall of her cheek. "I…you can't _hear_ us? Quasi? I—if you can hear us, say something to me," she whispered, though as a small but crooked smile crept over the man's features, the blonde heard herself emanate a tense exhale of relief through her nose as he wordlessly removed the bedding he had stuffed in his eardrums to protect his hearing from the bells.

"No, I can hear you," he responded cheerily, moving to stand in front of the two women once more the moment the proud iron and brass bells of Notre Dame had swayed their way to silence once more. The bell ringer parted his lips open slightly to speak, though he did not get the chance as a loud, startled shout rent the air. What was once peaceful had now become tainted, polluted with rage. Everyone tensed.

Madellaine stiffened, so did Quasimodo as the pair instantly recognized the familiar clacking sound of the Judge's boots resonating within the tower loft.

" _Quasimodo_! _What are you doing ringing the bells at the wrong hour, since when have you ever rung them early_?!"

The man's deep baritone voice, now calloused by ire, livid, and utterly graceless, gone was the charm that she had heard laced throughout the man's tones earlier when he'd addressed her.

Esmeralda's posture tensed as she balled her hands into fists at her sides, shaking, though not from fear of the infamous Judge, but of rage.

The boy had undergone enough torment and scrutiny for one day, and Esmeralda knew she would be damned to the seven hells below if she did not try to do whatever she could to quell Claude Frollo's temper.

Madellaine bit her tongue and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, could almost imagine the Judge walking to and from on the lower level of the mezzanine, though she knew it was only a matter of time before he—

" _I gave you this chance, boy, tried to make a man of you, and this is how you repay my kindness and generosity? You have deliberately disobeyed me, you ring the bells at the wrong hour to mock me, and now the ENTIRE CITY OF PARIS IS LAUGHING AT ME_!" he shouted.

Her shoulders leaped at the bashing sound of what sounded like an empty chalice clattering to the wooden floor below, and Madellaine's eyes flung open as the angered, clipped tone of the Judge drew closer. She barely stifled a low agonized moan and one look at Quasi was more than enough.

The poor man was utterly terrified, violently trembling, bringing his hands up to cover the span of his face in self-defense, and Madellaine felt a wave of hot boiling anger, hotter than the bell ringer's molten lead, begin to churn in her veins. _Frollo_ had done this.

The _Judge_ had been the one to cause all those scars. Madellaine parted her lips open slightly to speak, though her eyes widened the moment the Judge's towering and imposing silhouette came into view.

And then she heard the low, muted whimper come from deep within the confines of Quasi's chest, crippled with a horrible agony and so solid with a pain that felt as though her breast had been pierced with a lance as their master strode towards the three new friends with a fuming look in his eyes.

Madellaine swallowed nervously at the look of animosity in Master Frollo's eyes, and she could tell that she was the root cause of his problems and that she and Esmeralda had made a grave mistake in coming up here to visit the lonesome man.

A very grave mistake indeed.


	16. Enter the Sun God

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! As usual, I don't own the characters.**

**Anyway, been a while since I did a Claude Frollo/Esmeralda chapter, so here you go!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Enter the Sun God**

* * *

**THE** Judge could not begin to fathom how it had ever come to this. He was supposed to love the accursed wretch. His brother's misshapen demonic child.

He was supposed to love the boy. God had commanded it of him, made this boy his cross, his burden bear as atonement for failing to save his brother's soul.

Even when, for years following Jehan and Florika's deaths, the bastard whelp's mother, and Jehan's wife, his hatred had been spontaneous and cruel, and yet he found within his heart a need for this creature that the Archdeacon had forced him to care for, following his brother's words to him on his death bed.

 _Take him. He has nobody else. Take him. If you can find it in your heart_.

His brother's words, even now after all this time, still caused a vibration to plaster underneath his skin and make it crawl, and the Judge felt a muscle in his jaw twitch as he looked at the most unusual scene before him of his hearth keep and the gypsy witch clinging to one another in fear, and the boy quaking.

 _Good_. Claude felt the edges of his lips twist upwards in a sneer as he closed off the gap of space between himself and his young ward. He _ought_ to be afraid of what was coming to him.

Any semblance of compassion and care towards the creature now practically groveling in front of him as the boy bent his right knee and knelt in front of the Judge vanished like burst suds when his brother had passed.

He had lost Jehan, and his world crashed and burned, leaving Claude unsure who to blame. Claude had thought the demonic spawn an ill omen in this House of God growing up. Quiet, scrawny like death. Utterly weak, and oft held a saddened stare full of despair and hurt.

And now, as he looked upon the boy, he was becoming even more confused whether he had ever once cared for Quasimodo or not.

He _needed_ the young man, yes, of this he was sure, but Claude detested the wretch as much as he needed him.

All he had ever wanted was repentance for his sin, and by happenstance, he was now burdened with caring for the man and this little blonde girl as well, who was blinking owlishly up at him and regarding her master with wide, almond-shaped, fearful blue eyes, the pale blue trapped with shimmering tears.

The twist of his sour mood was only aggravated further as the pair of women's terrified gazes held him captive there a moment.

It was clear by the horrified expressions on both their faces the girls thought him to be a merciless brute, a monster.

 _If they think that of me, then so be it. A lesson needs to be taught here_. Claude silently seethed and felt the heat burn behind his eyelids as he jolted out his left knee, the heel of his black leather boot connecting against the accursed whelp's stomach where he knelt on the floor, and the sound of crushed ribs rent the air, followed by the boy's agonized roar, and a low, choking cough as the bell ringer staggered backward and fell.

" **STOP**!"

A pair of footsteps from behind him interrupted the Judge, whose curled fist was raised in midair, prepared to deliver another blow to the boy who had publicly humiliated him.

The Judge sanguinely lifted his head and was able to ascertain and recognize that the angry cut came from _her_. The gypsy witch who had dared to defy him by talking back to him downstairs in the main level of the sanctuary. He stifled his urge to roar like an enraged dragon and sneer at the witch.

The _witch_ , Esmeralda, had managed to get one over on him.

Well. Not a _second_ time.

The heathen gypsy witch and his little blonde hearth keep walked with a speed that could summon a violent hurricane towards the boy, who knelt on the floor cowering, arms raised above his misshapen face in cowardice, a pitiful attempt at protecting himself from the worst of the Judge's wrath, indeed.

Even angered in rage like this, the witch was still beautiful, the Judge was loathed to admit this, and it pulled him off his own fury.

Madellaine followed close behind her and knelt into a crouch at Quasimodo's side, a gentle hand on his shoulder as she helped him to his feet, shooting a venomous look of daggers at her master's way, unafraid to look the Judge in his cold eyes.

He was met with a look of obvious fretting, her eyes never once leaving his, though Claude could tell the blonde lass was feeling ashamed to have conspired such annoyance from him.

Esmeralda firmly planted herself between Quasimodo and Madellaine, who was shakily helping the boy to his feet as best as she was able, draping one of his strong arms around her shoulder and walking off towards the ladder that led to the lower level of the mezzanine away from the bells.

He watched as the witch, wretched little succubus, turned towards _his_ hearth keep.

"I can see that my charge has _distracted_ you," the Judge growled, his first words towards the witch since earlier. "Quasimodo, you shouldn't have!" he scolded, narrowing his flashing gray eyes until they rivaled that of a snake's slit-like pupils. Cold, narrowed, hard, rigid, and unforgiving of him.

Esmeralda halted in front of the Judge and sighed. "Stop! This was _my_ fault, Your Honor! Not the boy's! This has gone on far enough, Your Grace," she murmured in a dangerously quiet voice, leaving Claude's face drained of color. "It was _I_ who suggested that he ring the bells for your hearth keep and I, _not_ him. If you would punish me too, then let it be me and me alone, for you need not punish the boy, Your Honor."

Without leaving the Judge anytime to react, she turned towards Madellaine and signaled the girl to help him downstairs.

"Take him downstairs. Make sure he isn't injured, get him something to eat if you can find anything," she ordered, to which her command received a curt nod from Madellaine in silent agreement as she struggled to help the injured boy to his feet.

Quasimodo grunted as he was forced to stand from his kneeling position but welcome the help from the young blonde.

His left arm was draped over Madellaine's shoulder as his servant shot the Judge one final scathing look of displeasure before she stiffly turned her back on Claude and Esmeralda.

She quit the scene of the upper level of the mezzanine as quickly as she was able, speaking to the bell ringer in low murmurs, too low for Frollo to make out what was being said, though he knew he would be having words with her later in private, once Captain Phoebus had escorted the girl back to the Palace of Justice.

The gesture left Claude momentarily stunned, unsure of how he would have to delicately treat the situation with his new hearth keep.

If she was unafraid of Quasimodo as it certainly appeared that way to him, the way she did not hesitate to touch him, much less look the bastard son of his brother's in the eye, then he was going to have a bigger problem on his hands soon.

Perhaps the youngest daughter of Lucien de Barreau had gone mad and stupid after all, and Claude did not want to believe it. As he contemplated this, he called out to the girl.

"My dear girl, this is an _insult_ ," Claude seethed, hissing his words through clenched teeth and rooted jaw as his hands shook at his sides. "You can very well see I was _disciplining_ the boy. He is _my_ charge to be concerned with. Neither of yours."

The Judge watched, waiting with bated breath as Madellaine paused, pulling the heels of her brown leather boots on the wooden floor and the skirts of her dark blue velvet gown swished in a bounced twist as the young blonde reached up to her free hand not supporting the bell ringer's waist to tuck a wisp of her short blonde hair back behind her ear before looking at him.

She turned her head and met the Judge's gaze with hers, and Claude was able to absorb the strange lightning bolt that radiated between the two of them.

An intense feeling of dislike.

Her cobalt blue eyes were flashing dangerously, turning almost cerulean in color, and Claude could tell by the way the blonde lass was regarding him, her tense body posture, the stiff way she carried herself, that she did not particularly like him.

The girl's flickering azure orbs confirmed his suspicions when she spoke.

"No, Master Frollo," Madellaine murmured, speaking in such hushed volumes that almost sent a chill crawling underneath his skin despite the warmth of his billowing black robes. "You were _humiliating_ your own ward, sir. There is a _difference_."

She spoke slowly and calmly as if she were addressing a child in the midst of a violent temper tantrum rather than a fully grown man of almost fifty and one years.

Whatever response he had been expecting his servant to spout at him, that had most certainly _not_ been it at all.

Claude stiffened, pursing his lips into a thin line and bit down on his lip.

His ears had begun the familiar, aching, throbbing ringing whenever shame welled from deep within the pit of his stomach.

As his gaze flickered from that of his ward to the young blonde woman's, he froze, seeing that look of longing in the boy's glistening blue eyes.

He had underestimated the effect his ward had on people, particularly that of his newest servant.

They… They were… _close_. He furrowed his greying brows in contemplative thought. But _how_ close? Surely, not… _that_. The two _barely_ knew each other but a precious hour at best following the disastrous conclusion of this year's dreaded Festival of Fools.

But was it possible that in the precious hour or two at best of his newest servant knowing Quasimodo, the accursed wretch that he was, could she have, at the very least, managed to dig within herself to find a mere sprig of affection for the creature?

It was… _impossible_.

To hear such antagonized hurt laced throughout his servant's quiet and reserved tones in defense to a demonic bastard, the product of his brother's wickedness and lust.

Though Claude was pulled from his thoughts as she spoke.

"How _could_ you, Master Frollo?" Madellaine asked, upset.

The Judge found himself swallowing hard down past a growing lump in his throat. He turned his head to the side so the young servant would only catch his side profile in the shadows.

He could not remember seeing the details of Madellaine de Barreau and how she turned to face him fully, pausing at the top rung of the ladder that would take her and Quasimodo down to the lower level of the boy's precious bell tower loft. His _home_.

The young blonde woman's face was tense, stiff, and rigid, almost unmoving and all traces of softness within now dried out.

"How could you _do_ this to him? Beat him senseless and humiliate your ward?" Here, Madellaine narrowed her blue eyes in despair and incense towards Claude. "You blame him for his physical deformities as though it were _his_ choice to be this way?"

Claude drew in a sharp breath of frigid cold air that wafted in through the drafty entrance that led out towards the balcony terrace as his lungs turned to stone within his chest, ashamed. He looked off to his left to see the witch's sudden evasion of eye contact. And for perhaps the first time in his life, shame rained down on him like arrows that shielded the sun from view. Which made sense to him now as he watched in silence as the young blonde steadily and slowly helped the boy down the ladder, speaking to him in too low a tone for him to make out what was exchanged between the two.

"My child," he called out.

Madellaine stiffened, not even halfway down the ladder yet, though her tone was guarded as she poked her head up back over the railing. "Master?" she asked in a tone that spewed hate.

Claude found this new development incredibly distracting, not to mention insulting.

Was he really _that_ despicable to her?

He sneered, not even needing an answer to such a question. He could see it in her eyes.

"It was _you_ who accompanied my ward to the front of the stage, was it not?"

"Yes, sir, but I—"

"Do _not interrupt_ me, young mademoiselle," interjected the Judge, his voice calm, measured, but hard as a chunk of stone.

He did not need to shout, as other men did, to command respect.

The Judge, before he could fathom what was happening, felt himself close off the gap of space between himself and the young blonde, who had half risen from her spot on the ladder's rung in order to stand before her master and kneel in a curtsy.

It did not escape his attention that his hearth keep was blushing, while the boy had disappeared into the shadows, where he rightfully belonged, no doubt wishing to avoid further embarrassment.

Claude lifted his index finger and turned the girl's face gently upwards, eager to make Madellaine look at him.

"You will _leave_ this bell tower at once," he commanded, the edges of his voice clipped and hard. "You will return with Captain Phoebus and Lieutenant de Marten to the Palace of Justice, where you will await further instructions until such a time when I decide to send for you, my child. Is that _clear_ , dear?"

As he continued to keep his hand cupped underneath her chin, he felt the girl whose life he had saved from the gallows tremble beneath his touch, and as he stared into her warm, pleading eyes, Claude felt the worst of his anger dissipate and his grip relinquished on her chin as he took a step backward.

She stood there, staring at him, unbridled terror in those glistening pale blue orbs of hers, no doubt a myriad of emotions was flashing through her mind at a speed faster than she could keep up with.

He could only imagine what the girl was thinking.

Was he going to make good on his promise to hang her for her insolence? Would she be beaten? Whipped? Imprisoned?

It was clear, judging by the fear in his servant's eyes, she saw him as a monster.

And of course, the girl was bloody _right_.

"Get. Out," Claude whispered, feeling the beginnings of moisture in his eyes as he turned his back on the young blonde.

Madellaine did not need to be told a third time and she quickly slid down the rungs of the ladder and gathered the skirts of her dress, quitting the scene of the desolate north bell tower without so much as a goodbye to Quasimodo, wherever he had disappeared to.

She was unable to believe what just happened. As she paused, her hand on the doorknob that would take her back down to the main level of the sanctuary, she could not help but feel a sudden sense of discourse and unease at leaving Esmeralda alone with that man.

He was unpredictable, violent.

Madellaine _especially_ did not like the idea of Quasimodo being left alone in that insufferable man's company.

As she gathered the skirts of her blue dress in her hands and made to descend the stairwell, she made a mental promise to herself that she would come to check up on Quasimodo as frequently as she could.

After suffering such a miserable day today, the last thing he needed was to spend all of his free time alone up in here.

"I promise to come back," she whispered solemnly, hoping wherever Quasi had disappeared to, he could hear her somehow.

Her last thought as she dared to glance over her shoulder one last time, her gaze settling and lingering on Esmeralda, who shot her a soft, reassuring smile that she would be all right, was a simple but a poignant one, one that stayed with her all night.

_I hope this is not a mistake…_

* * *

Esmeralda had not anticipated being left alone in the Judge's company at the topmost level of the bell tower's mezzanine, and she was not at all sure how to feel about it.

It seemed to take the Judge an eternity to find his voice again, and when he did manage to turn and face her, his knuckles practically bone-white with the effort to steady himself from shaking in rage as they clutched tightly onto the balcony's railing, his voice was taut and pulled tight, dripping with anger.

"Filling the boy's head with dreams?" he growled angrily, causing Esmeralda to exhale in annoyance and gave the Judge a pleading look, though she knew this was a fruitless effort.

Considering what she had almost just witnessed and were it not for herself and Madellaine intervening when they had, he surely would have killed the boy in his short-fused temper.

She exhaled another shaking breath through her flared nostrils and at last, by some miracle of God, found her voice.

"Just thoughts. Nothing wrong with thoughts, is there?" Esmeralda challenged, wanting nothing more than to put as prompt an end to this conversation and return home and _fast_.

"That depends. You see how impressionable he is, little more than a child, even at his age," the Judge barked hoarsely.

"Looking at him, Your Grace, I don't see a child. He is an adult, sir, and should he not be treated as such, Your Honor?" Esmeralda retorted, feeling the beginnings of her temper swell.

"But _you_ are in a way," she heard Judge Frollo counter, causing Esmeralda to slowly swivel her head to look at the man.

He was staring at her, unblinking as if she had caught him in the middle of some deep, thought-provoking musing.

To say that she found it rather unnerving was an understatement.

"Milord, please excuse your ward, it is _I_ who was at fault for what happened, please don't punish Quasimodo or your hearth keep either, it wasn't her idea, the blame lies solely with _me_ , Your Honor," Esmeralda began rather hesitantly, gathering the skirts of her simple purple dress and prepared to sink into a low curtsy, wanting to put an end to their conversation, and the sooner the better.

A quick glance to her left confirmed it was now dark, the sun long set beyond the horizon, and if she couldn't make it back to the Court of Miracles at a decent hour, then she might as well not go at all.

Awful things happened to women out past curfew, things that made her skin crawl, things she'd rather not think of.

Claude Frollo, however, was not having any part of it. He motioned with a curt wave of his arm for him to follow her out onto the balcony, a suspicious notion which raised her hackles.

Though considering he held the upper hand here and held the power to ruin her life with just a snap of his fingers, Esmeralda saw no choice but to obey the command and follow.

"How do you find it?" he asked, not speaking to her again until she had followed him out onto the balcony, shivering from cold and waiting with gritted teeth to receive whatever slanderous slurs, vicious lies against her and her people that he wished for her to accept. When she didn't answer, he frowned.

"E—excuse me?" murmured Esmeralda sourly as she swiveled her head to the right to look at the Judge, unable to form a polite and proper response to the distinguished gentleman as the utter pretentiousness of his voice had gotten the better of her.

She wanted _nothing_ more to do with the man.

Judge Frollo eyed her cautiously out of the corner of his peripherals as if trying to detect any hint of deceit from her.

He must have not been able to find a shred of it within Esmeralda's green eyes, for when he spoke, his voice was soft.

"The _cathedral_ , child," he answered in a sardonic manner, his nails practically raking down the front of the balustrade.

"Beautiful," she answered, unfazed and unstirred from her spot next to the man as the pair stood watching the night sky.

"There is something angelic and joyous of our Lady of Peace, wouldn't you say?" the Judge asked after a moment's silence. He continued to eye her, somewhat skittishly, she noticed.

"I…yes," she answered, perhaps a little bit too quickly. Esmeralda blinked owlishly at the Judge in response as he turned to the side and registered the perplexed expression on her face, the edges of his thin lips turning upwards in a smirk.

He was… _smiling_ , almost in an intimate manner, as if he were enjoying some private joke with himself. In truth, the fact that the Judge was _smiling_ greatly unnerved Esmeralda, to the point where she did not know how to react at all.

"My dear, you seem to indicate a willingness to learn, wouldn't you agree? A soul who wishes to be saved, is already halfway there, yes?"

His lack of response as Esmeralda looked at the Judge with contempt and raised eyebrows in alarm irked her, and she began to feel more than a little nervous.

What did he want with her?

Clearly, it wasn't to, how did he put it? ' _Save her soul_.'

Was he just toying with her, to spite her for attempting to defy his order earlier when she had helped the boy down off the pillory?

He had spoken of punishment, how she would surely pay for her insolence, and she had assumed that to mean her arrest.

But now, Esmeralda could see that wasn't the case here. Letting out a concentrated breath, hoping her eyes did not betray her fear, she leveled her eyes as much as she could and did her best not to quirk her eyebrow at the Judge sarcastically.

Judge Frollo, however, seemed to enjoy this, for he smirked at her. Esmeralda stiffened, thinking she could have walked away had it not been for that insufferable smirk.

The left side of his faint pink lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god-like face; casting a spell of lust to eyes that dare look his way.

"What you did earlier today, young mademoiselle, was _inexcusable_ , and yet, here you are in God's House, with me…" Claude spoke sanguinely, in a soft tone, but his gray eyes flashed and darkened and filled with horrible, thick scorn for her.

It was a strange combination to behold, coming from a man so reviled and feared throughout the entire city of Paris, France. He succeeded in making Esmeralda feel uneasy, and she found herself swallowing and clutching at the skirts of her dress. If the Judge was made aware of the growing and obvious discomfort that he was causing her, he paid it no mind.

Instead, he merely turned towards her, glimmering moisture brimming in his eyes, along with a look of lust and intrigue she did not like.

"I could instruct you in the gospels; share with you our Lord's grace, my child. You could come here every day. Better yet, perhaps…you could stay here," Judge Frollo breathed.

Esmeralda smiled, albeit nervously and without showing her teeth, but then recoiled, taking a faltering step backward.

He followed, now eyeing her like a panther stalking its prey. "In the cathedral…with _me_." His arm shot out to latch onto her forearm as he attempted to grab her hand, though Esmeralda immediately backed away, scrunching her nose in revulsion, no longer caring if her fear of him was evident or not.

Now the Judge did seem as though he were irritated. His previous calm demeanor was immediately replaced by something much darker, something Esmeralda instantaneously recognized. "You feel as though you have been treated unfairly? You and your _people_ ," spat the Judge, looking down his slightly crooked nose at her, his gray eyes filled with immense scorn.

"Y—Your Grace, I don't think staying here in the church would be a good idea," Esmeralda stammered wildly, backing away until she felt her back press against the cold stone wall.

"No?" Claude challenged. Esmeralda would have replied, but the Judge sounded eerily hurt. As if she had found his weakness.

She winced at the implication of her own thoughts.

Esmeralda had no time to ponder it, however, for the moment she opened her mouth to speak, Judge Frollo seized the opportunity, taking advantage of the young Romani's hesitancy.

"Allow me to educate you on a useful truth, witch, so that you do not set yourself up for further disappointment," he snarled angrily. "You want more, I see that. But life _isn't_ _fair_. Anyone who says differently is selling something. The people of our world are no better than _him_ ," he growled, raising his hand and pointing a shaking finger to the interior of the bell tower loft.

Esmeralda hesitated, knowing she would regret asking, yet the question tumbled unchecked from her lips before she could even think of stopping herself. She hesitated, blowing out a tense breath that formed as a puff of cold vapor in front of her.

"And…what _are_ the people of this world, Your Grace?"

" _Monsters_ , the lot of them." His voice was bitter as he turned sharply away, though his speech was cutting to her, like a dagger that had been sharpened and aimed straight for her heart. The Judge did not sound as if he enjoyed saying such stinting remarks to her, for when he turned back around, he had softened considerably, though Esmeralda remained guarded.

Esmeralda frowned as she noticed the Judge look away and effectively turn his back on her, his moment of lust vanished, for which she was immensely grateful. Or so she _thought_.

"Why would you not stay?" he challenged after a moment's hesitation, the edges of his voice hardened as he sanguinely lifted his head to regard her.

His gaze traveled downward and lingered upon her lips. Esmeralda licked them nervously to moisten them as she felt the panic rapidly swell within her chest as she looked to the floor.

Esmeralda shivered at Judge Frollo's query, and despite herself trying to contain her honestly, she found she couldn't.

"I _see_ the way you look at me," she accused angrily, and almost instantly she regretted her words as the Judge recoiled.

He spluttered indignantly for a moment, his face reddening.

" **HOW DARE YOU**?!" Frollo bellowed, enraged, startling the young woman so bad that she let out a muffled squeak. "Your…soul, if you even have one, is so unclean, you can't even imagine the goodness in others. I should have known. No filthy gypsy _witch_ would _truly_ want to be saved, especially not _you_!"

His voice was full of such anger and cold fury, that Esmeralda was caught completely off-guard by his attitude.

She could not help but flinch, for she'd never heard anyone, not even Clopin, sound like this before. Simply put, the man sounded terrifying. Gone was his calculating and somewhat distant politeness towards her.

Esmeralda could not even form a reply to his outburst, for she had lost her ability to speak.

This could _not_ be happening. Could not be happening… Oh, but it _was_.

Esmeralda froze. A cold blast of nausea snaked its way throughout her entire body and made her skin shiver, leaving a horrible ringing in her throbbing eardrums at his expression.

Whatever hate-filled poisonous venom the Judge spat at her as he ranted and raved out here on the balcony terrace was left inaudible. Her brows twitched as she looked upward at him.

" **CAPTAIN**!" he bellowed, lunging for Esmeralda, and grabbing onto her arm.

Frollo lowered his voice as his ironclad grip on her arm tightened, and he pulled her close, so his thigh accidentally brushed against hers, and he had to practically lean down to whisper his warning into the shell of Esmeralda's right ear.

"I _warn_ you, girl, I could be a good friend to you, but I can also be a terrible _enemy_!" he growled. "The choice is yours!"

The Judge was facing her, watching her, teeming with anticipation as he waited for his captain of the guard to arrive.

There was no anger on his face, no excitement, no lust. Nothing. Nothing evil. And Esmeralda was alarmed by this.

She looked around wildly for an escape, praying to spot any sign of the bell ringer, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

"I…" Esmeralda's breaths died on her tongue, her tongue refusing her words' release, though before she could speak further, to plead with the Judge to show an ounce of compassion, she was struck with another wave of queasiness that almost left half her brain struck dumb and unconscious.

She heard her anxious breathing and her knees trembled badly until one of them collapsed and she felt her body pitch forward.

Esmeralda would have fallen were it not for a pair of strong arms suddenly latching onto either side of her shoulders.

The ringing on her ears was even louder this time, and as Esmeralda blearily lifted her chin, expecting it to be Judge Frollo who had righted her fall, she found a man clad in silver armor and a bright blue woolen cloak staring at her, her stomach twisting into knots as a coil in her gut twisted anxiously.

It was that soldier boy, the very same who had stood enthralled by the Judge's side watching her performance earlier. The gilded golden-haired man's kind hazel eyes were fixed on her. Solely her. As if the world had suddenly become devoid of women and she was but the last one left.

The man's cape and silver armor looked virtuous on him, and the Captain looked every bit like the knight from the tales of old that old Gwendolyn had used to tell her before bedtime when she was but a little girl. His eyes were a glistening light hazel brown, and Esmeralda would have sworn she saw a speckle of pink blush flush his cheeks high with color before he pointedly averted her gaze and looked to the Judge.

"Your Grace?" the captain of the king's archers and the cathedral guard questioned; his tone guarded.

The Judge merely proceeded to raise his eyebrows in anger as his narrowed pale gray orbs flitted from the Captain to her.

"Kindly escort this _heathen_ gypsy _witch_ and my hearth keep back to the Palace of Justice, Captain. I wish to have words with the Barreau girl for her role in what transpired today, and _this_ one," he sneered, straightening his posture as he stood towering over Esmeralda, though not as tall as the blond captain, "has a _cell_ below in our dungeons with her name on it."

Esmeralda's skin prickled and bile corrupted her throat as she fought back against the tears that begged to be freed from her lids and her hallowed breathing stretched her throat until it hurt, and the sensation worsened when she heard the soldier speak.

"Yes, Your Grace," he murmured, inclining his head.

She looked up quietly, exhaling a shaking breath as the pair slowly swiveled their heads and watched the Judge's imposing silhouette vanish from the bell tower balcony, leaving the two of them out here alone in the frigid cold winter air.

The moment the Judge had quit the scene of the bell tower's balcony, Esmeralda felt the ironclad grip of that soldier boy's hand on her shoulder and felt the hot burning of a torch being thrust entirely too close to her face for her own comfort.

Esmeralda had little time to react, her view now completely obstructed by the blinding light and heat from the lighted fire.

The gilded, golden-haired man's ironclad grip on her shoulder softened slightly, and as the torch in the soldier's gloved hand lowered, Esmeralda slowly opened her eyes, black spots swirling in front of her vision, though those slowly ebbed and vanished and soon she was able to see clearly again.

She looked up quietly and surely, the captain was able to notice nausea and revulsion in her face as he stared aghast with her expression.

The man lost the vigor in his chiseled, strong face and replaced it in it was a cautious mask of fury.

"Will you come quietly?" the man's deep baritone asked as he cleared his throat to keep her attention remained fixated on him.

It did not escape Esmeralda's attention that he looked bored, as though he would rather be anywhere else but here.

It was then that it hit her. There was no escaping her fate, and her fate was to be escorted and imprisoned at the Palace of Justice. It was a dark place, that prison. With dark walls, dark fires, and cold, besides. And her people didn't _do_ well inside walls, inside cages.

She shivered as she stared at the captain. He was beginning to tense in suspicion as he narrowed his hazel eyes on her.

The golden-haired captain of the king's archer's and of the cathedral guard must have sensed Esmeralda's hesitation, for his grip loosened slightly on his arm, though he made no effort to remove it.

"Please come without a _fuss_ , mademoiselle. You really _are_ quite pretty, you know. I'd _hate_ to have to use force against you to get you to comply with the man's order. I'd rather _not_ ruin your pretty little face..."

Esmeralda slowly lifted her gaze and locked eyes with the judge's chosen trusted captain of the cathedral guard and sighed as she found herself looking face-to-face with the handsome, blond, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers for the very first time.

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**A/N: I feel kind of bad it took several chapters for Esmeralda and Phoebus to meet for the first time, but since it's a long fic and I feel like at least Disney movies tend to rush things, I'm trying not to do that, where they meet for like five minutes and fall in love 3 days later lol.**

**Stay tuned for more! The next chapter is a somewhat cute Esmeralda/Phoebus POV since they meet for the first time :)**


	17. Sanctuary

**A/N: I haven't written too much for Captain Phoebus, who I've always liked, in both the German musical and the Disney movie, though I'm a softie for Quasi, I love both men in their own right, for drastically different reasons, and I hope I did this Phoebus chapter of him meeting Esmeralda justice.**

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**Chapter Seventeen: Sanctuary**

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**CAPTAIN** Phoebus considered himself a man who would do whatever it took to achieve the necessary results, and the flickering light from the torch held in his gloved hand danced wildly across the young dancer's face as the golden-haired captain held her shoulder captive pinned against the stone wall. From what he could make out of the young woman from the limited light coming from the torch held in hand, she was just a dull raven-haired Romani with a petite face, dressed in a simple purple and blue dress and scarf around her waist, and was currently turning her head to the side, eyes squeezed shut.

No doubt Phoebus had accidentally blinded her by thrusting said torch in front of her face to get a closer look, but also, he gathered by the droplets of sweat on her brow that was starting to drip down her temples, she was afraid of what was going to become of her in prison.

The captain of the king's guard hesitated, biting the wall of his cheek, not wanting to obey the judge's harsh command that he escort this young woman to await imprisonment at the Palace of Justice, when the only thing this dancer was guilty of, was having a compassionate heart.

Captain Phoebus felt the ebony-haired woman flinch slightly as the burning torch held in his hand hovered dangerously close to her skin, and he swore he smelled a black curl of her hair start to singe and burn, but she barely moved because of his ironclad grip. He smirked.

_Smart girl_. She knew better than to attempt to fight off a seasoned war veteran soldier.

He took advantage of the silence to allow himself a moment to study her features. The first thing he was drawn to about this dancer was her skin. It was surprisingly smooth and supple. Pristine almost, especially for a woman past her bloom. He did not know her exact age, but he would have guessed her to be in her early twenties, mid-twenties at best. Phoebus let out an exasperated sigh and gave the girl a weary, sideways glance that she missed. As interested in this woman as he was, he was also an impatient man, and eager to get this over with.

Madellaine de Barreau was patiently waiting downstairs in the main level of the cathedral's sanctuary, needing to be escorted back to the Palace of Justice, and he could not shake the feeling the Judge was in a particularly sour mood, which wouldn't bode well for him or his men tonight, he imagined.

And then there was the matter of their impending engagement that brought a grimace to his face. Neither one of them wanted this wedding for themselves, though until he could figure out how to get the pair of them out of it, he would bloody well play along if that's what it took to keep her safe.

They might not ever be bosom friends, he, and Lucien Barreau's daughter, but he was not about to abandon her and leave the poor thing to fend for herself out on the street. He had promised Madellaine's father when he had visited Lucien in his home a few days prior to the unforgivable act that he had committed against the old man in aiding him to die a warrior's death, that he would look after his old friend and commander's daughter. And no matter what happened to him, he aimed to _keep_ that promise, but for now, a much bigger problem was currently staring him in the face, and then it hit him.

Phoebus did not know this 'problem's name. He did not know what this girl had done exactly to incite the Judge's anger further, and whether or not she was guilty, he did not care.

Slowly lowering the torch in his hand, the gilded golden-haired, self-proclaimed Sun God sanguinely turned his gaze back towards the young wench pressed up against the wall. And very nearly dropped his torch out on the balcony as two youthful and wide almond-shaped green eyes were staring at him, widened in shock and fear as Phoebus stared right back.

Captain Phoebus felt his throat hollow and constrict as it started to tighten, cutting off precious air to his passageways, right as he had been about to open his mouth to speak to demand that she come with him quietly, as he did not want a fuss in this holy place. Though this creature that he had just rather unceremoniously pushed up against the cold stone wall of the balcony was…not exactly what Phoebus had been expecting.

He had not been able to get a solid enough look at this strange material of beauty during the Festival of Fools earlier, and she really was a beautiful woman. The ebony-haired woman was panting heavily, her breast rising and falling from exertion.

Captain Phoebus thought the dancer wasn't much in terms of height, for she barely came up to the top of his shoulders.

The woman's loose black curly hair was wild, disheveled slightly from the cold night breeze that wafted onto the balcony and through the bell tower loft. Phoebus furrowed his blond brows into a frown as he thought of the poor wretch that lived up here all alone in such a desolate and miserable tower loft.

The dancer reminded him of a restless bird, a free spirit, teeming with life but unable to escape from its cage, its prison.

It was those eyes of hers… Captain Phoebus swallowed down hard past the growing lump in his throat as she merely continued to stare at him with those widened, fearful eyes. The usual nonsense, of course, where he, as captain of the cathedral guard and of the king's archers, would have no choice but to threaten her, drag her downstairs against her will if need be, frighten her, if she did not comply, when she finally spoke.

"Are you arresting me?" The question she had just posed to him was laced with bitterness and an accusatory tone which Phoebus de Chateaupers thought unfounded and he didn't deserve. Though as he slowly swiveled his head to look at her, he had expected to see the fear in those forest green orbs of hers, but instead what he found there were minor anger and curiosity.

The Romani dancer was regarding the golden-haired Captain of the cathedral guard as though he were some foreign creature that she had just discovered, not a seasoned war hero. Any other young maiden might have looked away, their cheeks flushing red with embarrassment as he flirted with them.

But not her. No. This woman's gaze was unabashed and unwavering. She yielded to _no_ one, not even a soldier like him.

It almost felt to Phoebus as though this she-stranger knew exactly what lay beyond his own hardened gaze, his heart hardened after so many years on the front, watching friends and family perish on the frontlines, and he vowed he would do whatever it took to never go back again, and even with this knowledge, knowing full well the bitterness had seeped into his gaze, the girl did not avert her gaze once from him, didn't flinch.

It was unsettling for the captain, to say the very least. This woman, whatever her name was, whoever was, was a strange one. Not that Captain Phoebus really gave this a second thought.

The gilded, golden-haired man sighed and pinched at the front of his temples and huffed in exasperation, slowly returning his attention back to the woman he still held pinned to the wall.

Whatever she had done to incur the Judge's wrath, it must have been with ill intent. Though he could not deny the woman had a pretty face, seeing her up close like this. It was much more than he had bargained for, and he would go light on her, assuming the girl came quietly and did not make this part of his job more difficult, not only for himself but for her, as well.

"Not so long as you're in here," Phoebus murmured, lowering his gaze, though he tightened his grip and hardened his gaze slightly. "I _can't_." The ebony-haired woman with the curls as black as night no doubt got his intended message, for the curiosity which had been brimming in those glistening green orbs of hers, not even a half a second ago were now replaced with a horrible sense of bland resignation that did not suit the girl.

Captain Phoebus felt himself relax as he watched as the woman's shoulders slumped forward and she nodded in understanding, and yet, he felt eerily disappointed by her change of expression, although he couldn't put his finger on it.

"What happened? Answer me, and don't _think_ of lying to me, mademoiselle. I detect when you _lie_ ," he grumbled evenly.

"I…" the girl stammered, her green eyes widening, not feeble and high-pitched as he had expected, but low and husky.

Something between herself and the Judge must have transpired for the shift in her countenance to be so evident on her face, the way her face drained of colors, and she looked away. "The judge, he…he asked if I would stay in the cathedral."

Phoebus nodded, not even realizing he let go of the girl, an act which resulted in her slumping gracelessly to the balcony floor. She did not cry out in pain or surprise, and the dancer merely proceeded to lower her head and rest her hands on the cold stone floor, not letting out even a tiny whimper as she did.

The girl lifted her head just slightly, and the moment they locked eyes, the beautiful creature immediately cringed and bit down on her bottom lip. "When I refused his… _advances_ , Judge Frollo became angered and called for you. I—I suppose I should be lucky you arrived in time before he…" Though her voice broke, and she did not complete her thought as a shudder went down her back. "What _laws_ have I broken, monsieur, to warrant such an arrest? What _judge_ executes a sentence before I am even brought to trial? Would I even _get_ one, with what I am?"

She gestured bitterly towards herself, tugging on a curl of her hair, twisting the lock between her thumb and forefinger, and dropped her hand and nervously fidgeted with a ring on her right hand, twisting it, still biting down hard on her bottom lip.

Phoebus bit the wall of his cheek as he wracked his brain trying to think of something to say to put Judge Frollo's intended prisoner at ease.

"You challenged his authority, mademoiselle, and caused quite a disruption at the festival when you dared to speak out against the cruelty towards that poor creature inside. Our judge does not take kindly to this fact and seeks to use you to make an example to the other citizens of Paris. It is simply a fact, young mademoiselle, and I cannot change his mind," he said, at last, speaking slowly and cautiously, careful to mind his choice of words and his tone so as to not sound accusatory.

The last thing he wanted was to scare her.

Esmeralda nodded in understanding, though that did not make the precarious of her position that she had inadvertently placed herself in any less daunting. If anything, it made it more so. She looked taken aback by the golden-haired captain's simple statement, though Esmeralda quickly recovered and when she found her voice, her inner resolve grew and she slowly rose from her perch on the floor, having to use the wall behind her as a brace to steady herself, and promptly swatted the Captain's hand away when he made a move forward to help her.

"Let _go_ of me!" she snapped. "I can walk _myself_ , thank you," she answered stiffly, narrowing her green eyes until they were practically slits and glowering at the golden-haired captain.

"Feisty one, aren't you?" Captain Phoebus grinned, letting a chuckle escape his lips despite the trepidation he felt, and the fact remained that he was going to have to arrest this girl, soon.

The ebony-haired woman did not respond to his quip, seeming to take offense to his attempt at humor. Instead, she merely proceeded to raise her eyebrows in alarm at the captain as she brushed her hands on the skirts of her simple dress.

Captain Phoebus did not bother to stifle his grin as he raised his hands in self-defense and inclined his head as a show of respect. "Very well, mademoiselle. I meant no offense by it."

He shifted at the waist slightly and turned towards the young woman and offered her his arm, jerking his head towards the interior of the creature's bell tower loft, silently communicating that their time up here at the top of the world was up. There was a pitying look in the man's hazel eyes that made Esmeralda feel incredibly conflicted as to if he did not want to act on Judge Frollo's orders and yet, held no other choice.

"You are to come with me, mademoiselle," he announced calmly, stepping forward and made a move as if to grab onto her arm. "I don't _want_ to arrest you on account of I do not believe you are at fault for whatever happened between you and our judge, but I haven't any other _choice_. Can you not understand?"

Captain Phoebus recognized he was pleading with her now, though, in his mind, he just wanted more time to linger and be near her. His gaze drifted up and down the length of her body. She had pinkish-tipped fingers, tinged from the cold night air, and gentle. Cheeks flecked with pink, also from cold, and Phoebus was quick to admire as the wind tousled her raven black hair off her slender shoulders and into buoyant curls.

The girl huffed in frustration and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "There is _always_ a choice, Captain," she murmured.

"What do you suggest then?" Phoebus grumbled darkly. He had not even realized he had steered her towards the stairwell of the bell tower loft until they reached the top step. He frowned.

His ears perked up at a noise coming from the rafters high above their heads. Captain Phoebus swiveled his head upwards and his pleasant mood at being in the young woman's company instantly dissipated when he saw the strange, misshapen figure peeking through the wooden beams of the rafters above them.

_Spying_ on them.

The captain recognized this cretin: grimy, a hideous wretch, and an assault on the senses in every way. The only thing visible of the monster was his shock of ginger hair that looked as though he had been kissed by fire when he was but a babe, and his pair of brilliantly bright blue eyes, burning bright with anger, as hot as lit midnight torches.

Captain Phoebus furrowed his blond brows into a frown, thinking that many of the citizens of Paris at the festival today had wanted to take its life out of mercy, instead of seeing it cower and tremble in timidity at the sight of Judge Frollo.

When the accursed demon and the captain of the cathedral guard immediately locked eyes, the monster cringed and left, retreating higher up into the rafters and into the shadows as if Phoebus himself had fired an arrow squarely at the boy's chest.

The young woman, sensing her would-be captor's attention had fluttered to somewhere behind her, turned her back, and craned her neck, following Phoebus's gaze to see what lurked above, and saw only empty rafter beams above their heads.

Captain Phoebus let out a haggard sigh and shook his head to clear it, not wanting to escort her down the stairwell.

In his mind, he wanted more time to linger with her.

"What's your name?" he asked her. The girl stared at the gilded golden-haired captain's hazel eyes and the familiar awe created a prickling spasm under his skin, though not unpleasant. It felt to the captain as though the girl were looking deep into him, looking for assurance and trust—with fear.

He had only asked her name. What would give her cause to doubt his integrity? It took a while before she answered his query with lowered eyelashes and a soft voice barely audible.

"Is this an interrogation?" she asked, her voice drawling.

It set him faintly smiling. "I believe they called this an introduction," Phoebus joked weakly, hoping to set her at ease.

There was a beat. A pause. The captain thought the girl might not answer him at all just to spite and torment him further, to toy with him like the minx he knew her to be, but then— "Esmeralda," she answered, a smile playing on her lips.

His smile grew. "It suits you. Milady," he murmured, inclining his head as a show of respect, and a lock of yellow hair tumbled in front of his face that he became annoyed with, swiping it out of the way in one fell swoop of his thumb.

"And you?" Esmeralda pressed, trying to sound as polite as possible.

"Ah. Permit me. I should have mentioned my name first. My name is Phoebus. Phoebus de Chateaupers, at your service, milady. It means…Sun God." He meant it as a jest, but the way she rolled her eyes told the man it wasn't funny, and the smile on his face quickly wiped out. He cleared his throat as if to unsay everything but was glad she saved him from the embarrassment when Esmeralda spoke up again softly.

"An interesting name, Captain." She wanted to snort but raised an eyebrow at him incredulously for his 'sun god' quip.

He was very much, in her eyes, a flirt, and she'd had enough experience with men like Pierre Gringoire and Clopin to know. She cared not for men who sought hard to gain a woman's affections. It seemed forced and not genuine in her mind, really.

Silence reigned as the pair climbed the stairwell, with Phoebus's heart sinking lower and lower to the pit of his churning stomach. The inevitable moment had come at last.

He figured the heavy silence lingered between them because Esmeralda was looking at something on his person that sparkled on his chest, and she would be right in that regard.

Captain Phoebus took the chained golden wedding ring he had intended to bestow to Madellaine and held it out to Esmeralda, handing it to the ebony-haired girl for inspection. It was a simple thing on its chain, used to belong to his lady mother before her passing. No engravings of any kind, just a plain yellow gold wedding ring. He had thought it would suit her, though now, knowing what he knew now, he wasn't sure.

Esmeralda took it with a light nod of gratitude and eyed the simple wedding ring. Captain Phoebus could sense the girl was almost rendered breathless, and almost conspiring to keep it.

And what was even stranger, he decided, was that he'd not have minded if she had. She could even see her reflection in the gold, minimized and distorted though it was, it did not alter her ache for it, and that was the moment when the captain of the archers recognized the young dancer wanted more of life.

He smirked, for he could see the look of longing in her pale green orbs as she held the ring on its chain at her eye level, staring at it. "Is it from your wife?" Esmeralda questioned, already having given away the hint that she wanted it for herself.

_Good to know_ , Phoebus thought, as he bit the wall of his cheek and ran his tongue along the top wall of her teeth. "No."

Esmeralda pulled her eyes from the ring and looked at him.

"A lover?" She challenged, suddenly seeming intrigued.

He chuckled. "I have none." He shook his head, half-smiling. His gaze wandered from Esmeralda's face to her cheek and remained fixated on her lips, finding himself captivated.

_Not yet_ , is what he wanted to say, but managed to restrain himself, thinking it would be highly inappropriate. But then again, what soldier or man in their right mind wouldn't be? Her face alone was more than enough to attract an entire army.

Esmeralda looked as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it, for she pursed her lips shut and looked away, though not before Captain Phoebus caught sight of a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks, and he smiled at the girl.

The captain of the cathedral guard was not even aware the pair of them had reached the bottommost step and stepped off the stairwell, and it did not escape Phoebus's attention how Esmeralda cast a nervous, skittish glance towards the doors.

Claude Frollo stood waiting, impatiently, with his hands folded together and resting in front of his middle. The Captain practically felt Esmeralda stiffen as their shoulders touched.

Phoebus was disturbed to have sensed the prickling on Esmeralda's skin. It was as if she could sense the refined gentleman shooting her a venomous look of daggers from all across the way, without she having to look in Frollo's direction.

He noticed that her fingers curled instinctively into a tight fist over the simple yellow gold ring on its chain, though not out of a reluctance to give it back to him, but clinging her last shreds of sanity, pouring herself into the piece of jewelry as though it were her lifeline. "Keep it," Phoebus murmured lowly.

Esmeralda blinked owlishly at the gilded golden-haired captain, a look of shock on her face as it drained of all colors.

"Wh- _what_?" she stammered, as though she had misheard, but Phoebus was not fooled at all. He knew she had heard him.

He watched, minorly amused, as Esmeralda glanced down at the ring on its chain and made to hand it back, but he refused. Phoebus reached out a gloved hand and curled her fingers back over the ring, and offered a soft, reassuring smile.

"It's yours," he said, lowering his voice so that there was no possibility of either the Judge or his hearth keep overhearing them. The look of shock and disbelief on her face was worth it.

"I—oh, no, but Captain, I cannot take this! Here," Esmeralda muttered and immediately began trying to give the ring back, to which Phoebus promptly shook his head no.

"No. Keep it. Consider it a…" _A what_? His conscience taunted, sounding entirely too much like a snake hissing in his ear for the golden-haired captain's comfort. "A _promise_. Consider that as a token of my…affections, and that I will do everything within my power to save your life tonight, milady," he said at last, determination and resolve evident on his handsome face.

Esmeralda said nothing, though a tiny smile of gratitude crept over her face as she wordlessly slid the chain around her neck and tucked the ring carefully inside the bodice of her dress. Doing so effectively hid it from plain view.

_From Frollo_ , Phoebus thought, a darkened look flitting across his sun-kissed features as his gaze slid towards the Judge where he stood waiting with Madellaine and none other than Lieutenant Frederic, who, it did not escape his attention that Madellaine looked more than a little displeased to see the dark-haired handsome soldier again. He furrowed his brows in thought.

Something down here in the nave had happened earlier between the Judge's hearth keep and his own lieutenant, and for reasons that were unknown to him, the girl covered for Frederic. He aimed to find out _why_ , but first things first. Esmeralda.

"I might have an idea of how I can save your life, Esmeralda, but it requires you to _trust_ me, milady. Can you?"

A pause in her response was nothing that Phoebus could have hoped for, and he felt his heart sink and his face become crestfallen as the light within her forest green orbs dimmed a bit. He could surely sense the revolt she nursed for him, and whatever harebrained scheme his two working brain cells were concocting in order to ensure she was not about to be arrested.

It seemed to take Esmeralda an eternity to find her voice. "Yes. What's your idea, Captain Phoebus?" she asked, drawing in a breath that hitched in her throat as the captain leaned in close and whispered his idea into the shell of her ear.

She shivered as a tremor went down her spine at the unexpected closeness. "Claim sanctuary," Phoebus whispered. "It's the only way that I can ensure your safety, mademoiselle."

Esmeralda froze at the captain's words. "Is there really no other way?" she pleaded, feeling a cold chill threaten to engulf her entirely, and she was not prepared when Phoebus paused.

There was something of the young Romani's voice which made him listen. Something strong and determined about it. She kowtowed to _no_ _one_. Phoebus closed his eyes before looking down his nose at the young woman in his iron grasp.

Esmeralda really was a beautiful woman. Black hair, green eyes. He drew out a haggard sigh and gazed upon the woman to who he had given what was supposed to be Madellaine's ring.

She was spirited, but it was more than that. Yes, Esmeralda was beautiful, of that, any _fool_ could see it, but in a subtle way. In the sort of way where if you happened to be observant, you would look twice at her in the streets and see a strong spirit.

This was a good thing, Phoebus decided. It meant that she could survive within these stone walls, for a little while. But it also meant that it would make her life circumstances that much more complicated if the girl ever got it in her mind to escape. But it also made it a possibility. This was the only way.

Esmeralda narrowed her eyes as she noticed Captain Phoebus staring at her in a somewhat melancholic manner.

"This is the _only_ way, mademoiselle," he muttered, his gloved fingers tightening around her forearm as Phoebus whispered his protests into the shell of her ear, his voice lowly.

"But it will keep me out of prison and the stocks?" asked Esmeralda, raising her eyebrows in defiance, as if she were weighing in her mind whether or not to trust the captain's word.

" _Yes_ ," Phoebus heard himself reply without any hesitation on his part, shrugging his shoulders. "But I'm afraid it would mean placing you in a different kind of prison instead, Esmeralda. But your freedom from prison comes at a price."

"What do you mean?" asked Esmeralda hesitantly, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, weaving them in between her knuckles as she cast skittish glances towards Judge Frollo.

"You will _never_ be able to leave this place," Phoebus confessed, a pained look on his weather-beaten face as he reddened in shame. "If you were to try, the Judge would see you arrested the moment you stepped one foot outside these walls."

"So, I could never see Clopin or Gwendolyn or any of the others back in my…my tribe?" murmured Esmeralda in despair.

"Yes." Phoebus inclined his head, seeming saddened by the harsh reality of the situation he had inadvertently placed her in.

Esmeralda paused, contemplating the ramifications of what she was about to do, if she chose to go along with the soldier boy's plan to save her life. She did not mistake the steel in the captain's voice. What he was saying to her was the cold truth.

"I claim sanctuary, then," she whispered, her voice sounding small and meek, and much less subdued than before.

Captain Phoebus offered a curt nod of his head in response, silently signaling that he understood at the exact same moment the two of them heard Judge Frollo call out to them.

"I'm _waiting_ , Captain! We haven't all night, sir! You will escort her outside and—"

"I am terribly sorry, my liege," Phoebus murmured, adapting an apologetic and disgruntled tone as he raised his voice as he turned at the waist to regard the figure of authority. "But the woman has claimed sanctuary here. I can't arrest her."

The judge silently seethed, his fingernails curling into fists as they dug into the skin of his palms. His face draining of colors in anger, ignoring the young blonde hearth keep's look of barely restrained joy at the concept of her new friend being free, he raised a shaking finger and pointed it in the captain's direction.

"Then, Captain, you will _drag_ her outside and you will—"

"Frollo!" barked a deep baritone voice, a male's. "You will not touch her!" The voice was deep, and Esmeralda and Madellaine collectively swiveled their heads in the direction of the voice, both women eliciting gasps of surprise at the figure.

The old Archdeacon of the church was striding towards Claude, Phoebus, and Esmeralda, unbridled rage on his face.

Archdeacon Mathias was old, a shriveled creature, feeble, and walked with a tottering gait, his sandals shuffling along the black and white checkered tile beneath their feet. He looked as though one good puff of wind would blow him down for good.

He had a hand tremor and a constant waggling and bobbing of the head. The old man's deep wrinkles seemed to carve a map of his life on his still agile and mobile facial features. His twinkling light green eyes were framed by thick white eyebrows and on his stubbled chin was white whiskers.

Archdeacon Mathias laid a gentle hand on Esmeralda's shoulder, trembling slightly, though when he gave it a light but reassuring squeeze, as if to convey everything would be fine, she noticed that it did not tremble quite so badly. "Are you all right, my children?" he asked, his gaze flitting towards the women.

Esmeralda and Madellaine exchanged looks of worried surprise and quickly nodded their agreement, saying nothing.

He asked the question of them smoothly, the baritone of his voice reverberating through Esmeralda's bones as the Archdeacon pointedly removed his hand from her right shoulder.

The low rumble of his voice was comforting as it wrapped around Esmeralda and carried her off to a world where sound is the power that could change everything wrong in this world.

Esmeralda let out a gasp of surprise as she quickly realized the Archdeacon was waiting for an answer from both of the girls.

"W—we're fine," she piped up, glancing towards Judge Frollo's hearth keep for confirmation, whose face had paled in anger towards Frollo's outburst, and the little blonde lass looked as though she wanted to vehemently protest but thought better of it, for which Esmeralda was grateful. Esmeralda did not want her new friend to become imprisoned solely on her behalf tonight.

The chuckle that replied was that soft, rolling thunder that billowed across the dark skies on a stormy night as the Archdeacon nodded, before hardening his gaze and returning his attention back towards the Judge. "Claude will _not_ lay a hand on either one of you, young Mademoiselles. Judge Frollo learned years ago to respect the sanctity of the church," he growled.

Frollo sneered and pursed his thin, wormy lips as he glowered at the old Archdeacon. Madellaine's lips parted, her blue eyes stupefied at the turn of events the night had taken. It was almost impossible. The young blonde looked as though she was itching to say something to Esmeralda but sensing the look of rancor and unbridled rage on her master's face, she must have thought better of it, for she fell silent.

"This woman is under the protection of the church, Your Grace," the Archdeacon barked, the edges of his tone clipped and hardened, bordering on a finality that even Esmeralda knew the Judge would be foolish to try to cross. "Your power ends the moment you cross the threshold and enter into our front doors."

Frollo made no move to turn on the heel of his boot and leave, and for a moment, it seemed as though he wasn't going to, though Esmeralda watched with bated breath as the man let out a sigh and pinched at the front of his temples with his thumb and forefinger as he looked towards Esmeralda, rage in his eyes.

"Then, my dear, it would seem you have chosen a magnificent prison, wouldn't you say? Truly a place of beauty, but it is a prison, nonetheless. I look forward to seeing you again the moment you step outside these stone walls. Your kind, heathen witch, don't do well inside stone walls, do they, child?"

Esmeralda winced as Madellaine shot her a pained look, silently pleading with her new friend to be careful, seemingly reluctant to leave her friend behind to such a horrible fate.

She smiled at Judge Frollo's blonde hearth keep and shot her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, silently trying to convey to the petite little blonde that she was going to be fine.

Esmeralda watched as the Judge motioned with a curt jerk of his arm for his hearth keep, the Captain, and his young dark-haired lieutenant to follow him outside the wide oak double doors. "Remember girl," he growled, no semblance of warmth in his tones. "Step one _foot_ outside," and you're _mine_ ," he snarled.

Esmeralda furrowed her dark brows in response, favoring silence here as the only apt response to his quip as the Judge escorted his blonde hearth keep out of the cathedral, a hand on the small of her back that made Esmeralda's skin crawl _for_ her.

The Captain shot her one last glance over his shoulder, a hand on the doorway of the opened front doors of the cathedral.

He smiled at her. A small, slightly crooked half-smile, but it was enough to cause the butterflies in her chest to flutter wildly, and as the door shut gently behind him, Esmeralda was hardly aware of her hand coming up and tugging at the chain until the simple yellow gold ring the captain of the cathedral guard had given her was off from around her neck and in her hand again.

The Judge, however, did not miss the exchange between the two, and he aimed a look towards Esmeralda. Acrid and perilous, close to hostility as the Judge could possibly manage.

It was a warning to Esmeralda as clear as daylight.

Stay away from the captain. Or _else_ …


	18. Relieved of Service

**A/N: Hi all and welcome back. Things continue to take a detour from the movies but that's a good thing, as I've said before, I don't want this to be a carbon copy of the movies, and I hope I'm giving all the characters (especially Madellaine) a bit more depth and a bit more flawed and making them a little more relatable.**

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**Chapter Eighteen: Relieved of Service**

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**THE** walk back to the Palace of Justice was a tense one, with neither party speaking much, Judge Frollo having mounted his black Friesian steed and left without a word to the captain, with his only exchange to Madellaine being that he expected his meal prepared the moment she returned.

Madellaine was more than grateful when Captain Phoebus offered her his arm and she took it without any semblance of hesitation on her part as she allowed the gilded golden-haired captain of the guard to escort her towards the kitchens, where she knew she would undoubtedly be on the receiving end of a scolding from both Sophia Damas and the head cook, Jeanne, for her absence.

She barely stifled her groan and a slight rolling of her eyes as she heard the pair of women's voices carry throughout the corridor before turning to Phoebus.

"Thank you, Captain, for escorting me back. You are very kind. It seems that I was wrong about you, sir. I have misjudged you, and for that, I apologize," Madellaine murmured, inclining her head once the pair of them reached the closed kitchen doors.

The golden-haired captain let a dark little chuckle escape his lips as he returned the gesture and relinquished her arm from being intertwined around his, stepping back to give her space. "You're welcome," he answered dutifully, turning his back, though not before glancing once over his shoulder.

" _Where is she_?" came the booming bark of Jeanne's slightly hoarse voice from inside the kitchen, to which Sophia, God bless her, responded in a low tone by claiming that she did not know.

Suddenly, Madellaine was overcome with a sense of immense guilt that felt weighted and heavy upon her shoulders, as though someone had set a chunk of stone there and told her to balance it. Sophia had been covering for her, for God only knew how long.

Yet another thing she owed Sophia Damas for. Madellaine squirmed uncomfortably, nervously fidgeting with her fingers as she glanced towards the closed door and then back towards her betrothed, trying to look comforting and to give the man her best, "It Will be Fine," smile, and utterly failing.

Though even as she forced her cheeks to mold into their reluctant smile, she felt her blue eyes go wide and round with shock, and she was quite sure she looked as though the captain himself had just punched her squarely in the gut. She let out a sigh, wishing the ground beneath her feet would swallow her up.

"You are _certain_ you don't want me to come in with you? I would be more than happy to make an excuse for you, dear," the captain murmured, a slight lilt to his teasing tone right now.

"N—no, Captain Phoebus, I—that—that won't be necessary, monsieur, but I…would like to speak to you later this evening if I could?" Madellaine questioned hopefully, biting on her bottom lip. She drew in a sharp breath and twisted her hands together.

Madellaine had seen the unusual glances exchanged between the captain of the cathedral guard and the Romani.

If it was what she suspected it to be, she wanted to know the truth and to see if the man had any ideas for how the pair of them could break off their engagement and not incur Master Frollo's wrath at the news once the man was to learn of it.

If Captain Phoebus was at all surprised by the nature of her request, he hid his stunned shock well and merely nodded. "Of course. Though first," he grinned, shooting her a lopsided but dazzlingly charming white grin, "you'd best go inside and tend to _that_ , first. The Judge wants his meals, too."

Madellaine cringed as another angry shout from Jeanne rent the air behind the closed doors of the kitchen, which earned a light smirk from Captain Phoebus by way of a silent response.

"May I call on you at around eight?" she asked hopefully, breathing out a sigh of relief with the golden-haired captain inclined his head slowly and offered the young blond a smile.

"You may. Until then. Milady," he murmured, offering his intended an awkward little half-bow and retreating down the corridor, leaving Madellaine to her resigned fate in the kitchens.

The young blonde groaned and bit the wall of her cheek as she gingerly reached towards the doorknob and turned it, knowing full bloody well once she opened the door, Jeanne would ask her where she had been. She tried to focus on regulating her breathing, but the anxiety bubbled in her ribcage.

Madellaine suddenly felt sick to her stomach as she could not stop her mind from thinking of the horrible way the Judge had treated poor Quasimodo. Her chest became hollow, emptied, and then all at once, it was filled with this horrible buzzing.

He was honestly the strangest but the sweetest man she had ever met in her lifetime, and for someone to treat him so cruelly the way the Judge had dared to lay a hand on him in anger was unfounded, and highly uncalled for, and sent a surge of fiery anger hotter than dragon fire coursing through her blood.

Exhaling a shaking breath through her flaring nostrils, her hands trembled, and her eyes watered as she twisted the knob. Her body felt hot and sweat started trickling down her back as she gripped it tightly and twisted it, opening the door.

With every move she made, Madellaine only succeeded in making herself more and more terrified. Her breaths quickened as she heard the creaking of the door, her facial muscles steeling as she mentally prepared herself for whatever harsh punishment Jeanne was about to inflict upon her for making her worry so. Tension met her the moment she crossed the threshold from the dimly lit corridor and into the warm, bright kitchens.

" _Where. Have. You. Been_?!" came Jeanne's admonishing tones, her voice hoarse as the young blonde suddenly found herself face-to-face with the head cook, her new friend Sophia shooting her nervous but angered glances from behind Jeanne. The anger in the cook's tone was unmistakable as the grey-haired but still, quite a pretty cook stood with hands on her hips near the fire-stoked cauldron, making what smelled like a stew.

"I—the—the Judge requested my presence at the festival, Jeanne, I—I thought that I had mentioned that to you?" Madellaine murmured, the dread in her tone obvious as she gathered the skirts of Jeanne's borrowed blue velvet dress and sank into a low curtsy, hoping to beseech her new superior.

Jeanne pursed her lips into a thin, rigid line as she sliced warm loaves of a few baguette loaves from the baker's shop, and carefully laid them on a platter, along with bacon still dripping in oil, a rind of Brie cheese, and a bowl of a few hard-boiled eggs. Madellaine hadn't noticed she was, but too obviously tired. The darkened circles underneath the young blonde's eyes and the sweat beading along her browbone and sliding down her temples did not go unnoticed by Jeanne, who let out a sigh.

"Where on earth did he _send_ you, child, _Italy_?" she groaned, turning back towards the tray she was preparing.

Madellaine merely shrugged her shoulders by way of response, a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks and she winced as Sophia tossed a change of garments square at her chest. "Here," the young brunette offered with a hoarse croak. "Put that on and best make your presence known to the master, Madellaine," Sophia muttered under her breath. "He's asked for you. You _don't_ want to keep that man waiting. You _know_ that."

Jeanne nodded, giving her young charge a quick once-over, the pursing of her lips and her heavy scowl deepening by the second. "Are you sick, girl?" The head cook was raking eyes at Madellaine. "Might as well scour the pots then if you can't walk. I would not hear of you overthrowing food on the halls. I would be well within my rights to give you a beating for that, woman."

Jeanne's voice was firm, though not necessarily un-caring, Madellaine knew, and the gruffness of her tone masked her worry. "Where is he? The—the Judge? He—he wished to speak to me the moment I returned back here," Madellaine murmured quietly, unable to ignore the startled looks of surprise Jeanne exchanged with Sophia. She furrowed her brows. "What is it?"

Madellaine knew Judge Frollo wished to speak with her, he had made it quite clear to her back in Quasimodo's bell towers.

Therefore, she did not let her heart sink at this revelation, she had been expecting it, though it was clear from the tensions between Jeanne and Sophia that the two women were at least aware of the unbelievable tension between master and servant, and the stern look on Jeanne's face that she was, at least a little bit, informed of the horrific events of what happened at the FOF.

But whether or not Jeanne and Sophia felt any semblance of disapproval towards Madellaine's actions today in choosing to help Notre Dame's bell ringer recover from his wounds, that she couldn't say, but she could only hope someone would be on _her_ side. The young blonde hearth keep cringed as the pair of women flinched before slowly turning back to regard the girl.

Sophia was the first to break the silence.

"The judge was _not_ happy with your part in all of this, Madellaine. H—he is very angry," she began, lowering her voice in a hushed whisper as she repressed a shudder that went down her spine, no doubt remembering how Claude had been stuck in his awful mood upon his return home to the Palace of Justice after the despicable way this year's Festival of Fools had ended, with the entire city of Paris now made aware he was in charge of a wretch.

Madellaine waited with bated breath as Sophia brushed aside a stray dark curl that tumbled in front of her face while Madellaine quickly changed, shrugging out of Jeanne's borrowed illustrious blue gown and into a simple skirt covered in patches of multi-colored textiles and a short-sleeved brown blouse, with an apron overtop her skirt to protect it from becoming even more stained, she groaned as she slipped into her wooden clogs, glancing at her reflection out of the corner of her eyes nervously.

Something was missing, and— _oh_! She remembered. Madellaine dipped into the pockets of her skirts for her headscarf and slipped it on. Not that she had much hair to tuck beneath it. She sighed, tucking a stray wisp of blonde hair that had fallen loose from behind her ear, putting it back into place.

"Despite that, Madellaine, Darius, and I _saw_ how you helped that boy, you know," Sophia murmured, a light pink blush speckling on her cheeks as she fetched a tin canister of a rich, deep red wine. The young brunette snickered at the look of disbelief on Madellaine's face as she fetched a golden goblet and placed it onto the tray containing the Judge's supper next to the tin flagon. "We thought it was a brave thing of you to do, Lena."

Whatever blood had been left in Madellaine's face now drained completely as she was suddenly thrust a knife and an onion by Sophia. Her new friend and her lover, Darius Barret, the miller's son, had seen her?! They had seen her openly defy her master and help Quasi off the pillory?! By the Light of God, what they must _think_ of her by defying their master? Were Jeanne and Sophia now ashamed to be seen with the likes of her?

Did they hate her because she had gone against the entirety of what they deemed as a polite society? And what of Claude? Surely, he would punish her for her part in what had happened to Notre Dame's bell ringer today. Madellaine repressed the whimper that threatened to escape, though if Sophia noticed, she was good at hiding.

Sophia furrowed her brows in a frown and let out a tired-sounding sigh of exasperation. "Here. Get to work chopping these onions. The Judge's supper is already late as it is, but the soup's _missing_ something. I think a few onions and chives will do the trick. Go on, now!"

Madellaine nodded, used to such rants from the kitchen wench by now, silently walked over to the adjacent wooden table, near the cauldron where the smells of the delicious stew wafted towards her flaring nostrils, eliciting a low grumble from her stomach, reminding her she had not eaten since breakfast.

For a while, Madellaine and Sophia worked side by side, preparing the Judge's supper in silence, with Madellaine dutifully chopping the onions and chives for the stew, while Jeanne was in the midst of dicing carrots and salted beef, haphazardly throwing all of the ingredients into the cauldron.

"Do you hate me?" Madellaine asked softly after a long, rather awkward pause, her mind focused on the task at hand, her fingers curled tightly around the knife held in her hand, actively wanting to avoid Sophia and Jeanne's piercing gazes. She turned her head to the side to cough as her throat suddenly hollowed and constricted, leaving her unable to speak any further.

The young blonde ducked her head in shame, not wanting to meet the brunette or the head cook's eyes at all.

Sophia was the first to break the silence and responded in kind by putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezing it.

"Of course not!" she protested, sounding offended as her dark brown eyes widened in utter disbelief as she wiped a bead of sweat from her browbone. "We could _never_ hate you, Lena!"

Jeanne quickly nodded her agreement, though the soft smile that tugged at the corners of her lips slowly faded. "Do not apologize for what transpired today, child," she admonished gently. "The fault was not yours. If anything, we ought to be the ones apologizing to you and that boy, for we watched and did nothing, too afraid of the Judge's wrath to speak up against such horrible cruelty. You've more courage than the both of us."

Madellaine's expression was one of disbelief and she looked sick as she nodded, turning back to finish chopping the last of the onions, staring at the silver knife in her hands, transfixed by the pristine gleam of the metal even in the dim light of the room. She held up to her eye level for a moment, her distorted reflection along the edge of the blade. Warped, twisted glistening sapphires stared back at her, condemning her, and judging her.

Droplets of briny, salty water escaped from her lids without any warning at all, and she hardly felt Sophia as the young brunette moved to stand next to Madellaine to take the onions from her, chopping the last of the chives to go into the stew, when she heard her new friend sniffle once through her nose.

The corners of Sophia's jaw twitched as the slender brunette didn't even have to look up. "Onions got to you then?"

Madellaine sniffed and nodded, ducking her head to avoid Sophia and Jeanne seeing the steady stream of tears rolling down her pale cheeks in graceful tracts. "Y—yes, I think so."

Sophia resisted the urge to snort and roll her eyes. They both knew these damned onions had nothing to do with her tears.

"Go on, then, before you make our master's punishment worse on yourself," she sighed, shoving the tray in Madellaine's hands when the soup was finished, Jeanne pouring a cup of it for the judge and setting aside a steaming cup of soup for when Madellaine was finished bringing the Judge of her supper, as well as a half loaf of bread and a small wedge of cheese, besides.

Madellaine's stomach rumbled, and she silently tried to thank the cook with her eyes as Sophia held the door open for her, considering Madellaine's hands were full of the tray.

"Good luck," muttered Sophia, to which Madellaine responded numbly with a curt nod and a tight smile. Before turning to her immediate left and down the hall, she turned to give Sophia Damas one last look.

She really did not know why this girl a year or two older than her was helping her so much, being so kind and patient with her in answering all of her questions, considering she had never worked as a hearth keep before her appointment with the Judge her in Paris, being so sweet to her, but all the same, she was grateful that she had.

"Thank you, my friend," Madellaine murmured, before turning away. As she walked down the hallway that inevitably led to the Judge's personal study, she could not shake the feeling of dread from her spine, that her time had now come. She could not stop it, reverse it, or slow it down.

She could no more avoid this dreaded conversation with Master Frollo than the beating of her own heart as it pounded with futility against its cage of bone and cartilage. The dread she currently felt was an invisible demon sitting heavy on her shoulders and only Madellaine could hear the sharpening of its knives.

Madellaine felt the beads of sweat forming and became pale, then the tremor in her hands began. Her head became a little giddy and her stomach nauseous, twisting like mad. She was starting to feel nervous, something she hadn't anticipated, and that her hands were becoming clammy.

Before raising her knuckles to knock on the door and announce to Master Frollo her presence, Madellaine stretched her mouth to smile, to not appear so distraught and fearful of him, though she could not help but to shiver and wait with gritted teeth and bated breath for the man to scream at her.

Scold her, whip her perhaps, have her escorted to the dungeons, and flayed for her part in helping out his ward today.

A guard went out of the door, seemingly unnoticeable of her and she barely stifled her squeak of surprise when she heard the man's voice bid her enter. She did so nervously and found Judge Frollo by the window again, still in his black robes.

"M—Milord," she murmured, curtsied as Claude swiveled his head over his shoulder to regard his servant's late arrival. He did not seem surprised nor particularly pleased to see her as she gingerly stepped inside the room and nervously set down the breakfast tray on the man's oak mahogany desk in front of him. "I—it's about time you supped, Master Frollo."

When her pitiful attempt at engaging her employer in conversation failed to elicit a response, she began to grow nervous. She lowered her head and drew in a breath and held it. Madellaine was still at a loss as to what it was that the Judge wanted of her. However, she was not eager to find out.

"Y—you sent for me, Y—Your Grace?" she stammered, inquiring after the truth, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Much like the last time, the pair had spoken to one another but not even an hour ago, the young blonde hearth keep heard Claude before she saw him. He stood behind his desk at the window, looking at the illustrious silhouette of Notre Dame de Paris with a pensive, furtive look etched on his lined features.

His back was facing towards her, his hands clasped behind his back, and the Judge was so still that, if Madellaine had not immediately recognized the man, she'd have mistaken him for a statute, perhaps even one of the few that guarded Notre Dame.

When he turned around, he said very little, pointing towards a single wooden chair in front of his desk.

" _Sit_." The command escaped from the confines of his chest as a low, rumbling growl, his chest vibrating from the sound, almost.

Madellaine hastened to do as she was told, approaching the judge, and as she did so, she swore she felt the temperature in the room drop another ten degrees or so, and she shivered as a cold chill traveled up and down her spine as her own footsteps echoed quietly off the cold cobblestone floor beneath her clogs.

She sat rigidly with her back pressed into the backrest as far as she possibly could lean back as the Judge continued his absentminded staring out the windowpane while Madellaine was left to wonder if the man was looking at anything in particular. Madellaine tried her hardest not to shiver whilst waiting with gritted teeth and locked jaw for the arrogant judge to turn and address her properly.

She wanted this, whatever 'this' happened to be, to be over with quickly so she could return to the kitchens and eat, for her to receive whatever hateful words the Judge wished her to accept, physical punishment if need be, before retreating to the safety of her new quarters for the eve.

She waited with shivered breath for the Judge's next words. No longer did Madellaine feel any guilt for her part in saving the man's charge from further humiliation at the hands of the Parisian townspeople, those simpleminded peasant folks who did not understand what they had done to that man was _wrong_.

Any guilt that she might have once felt for her part in today was now long gone by the time she crossed the room and sat dutifully down in the chair and mentally steeled herself for punishment, either physical or mental, it did not matter which. Madellaine swallowed nervously, her heart pounding so damned audibly _loud_ in her chest, she was surprised he didn't hear it, though if the Judge did, he made no mention of it at all.

"I do not think I need to explain to you, young mademoiselle, why your behavior this afternoon at the Feast of Fools was incredibly _foolish_ ," the Judge spat bitterly, hatred spewing from the man's languid tongue as he turned to face her and finally took the seat behind his desk just opposite her. "You are an intelligent enough young woman, despite being uneducated, and thus, you are smart enough to know, my dear."

The look of visible disappointment was almost ten times worse than it would have been if he had simply been furious with her. Madellaine had thought she could handle it, though his voice was rough and coarse, which strangely put her at ease.

It gave her master a sense of vulnerability, something she had not seen in the imposing Judge before up until this point.

The Judge clamped his lips tightly shut and merely proceeded to observe his young blonde hearth keep in silence, as if she were some wild, unstable creature, and oh, the irony of that simple observation was not lost on Madellaine de Barreau.

His short thick tuft of salt and pepper hair, still lovely and luscious, was wild and disheveled as if in a fit of agitation, he had tugged on it in distress, and his sharp pale gray orbs were flashing deadly and dangerous, rivaling a suit of knight's armor. Madellaine exhaled a tense, shaking breath through her nose.

"I—I understand my errors, monsieur, a-and I well aware that you are within your rights to dismiss me for my terrible actions, Master Frollo, b—but what those people did was _wrong_." Oh, _dear_.

She cringed, biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to cause the skin of her lip to crack and break and bleed. She had not meant to be so…so vocal in her opinions, but in her anger, that damned hot fire seed of anger welling and churning her stomach into intense cramps, it just…slipped out.

Claude merely raised his gray eyebrows at this sudden outburst and only looked blankly towards Madellaine, which only succeeded in confusing her further. She had assumed he had summoned her here to be punished for her actions today.

Why on God's green earth was Master Frollo not angrier with her for getting away with what she did? Befriending the man? Where was this so-called punishment she'd been warned of? Not that the blonde was complaining, per se, but…but…

Seeing him in such a calm state almost frightened her, and Madellaine did not know how to react to the man's countenance.

"Let me ask you a couple of things, mademoiselle, if I may," he murmured, reaching across the table, and Madellaine flinched, thinking any moment he would reach across his desk to strike her, but he merely reached for the tray containing his supper and plucked off a wedge of the cheese and ripped off a chunk of the cheese with his teeth, chewing methodically slow.

Madellaine's face drained, though she quickly nodded, feeling defensive.

"Yes, Master," she murmured quietly, timidly. The man seemed to be making a sport of playing with her fear, for the Judge took his time chewing and swallowing his bite of cheese and then a bite of bread, all the while never taking his narrowed gray eyes off her while he ate, making a show of it all.

She squirmed in her seat uncomfortably, hoping that Master Frollo wasn't too upset with her for what had happened.

The young hearth keep had expected some amount of anger from the man, but she'd hoped it was nothing they could not talk through, at least to try to get him to see her side of things, though she was merely the man's servant, and he, her master. While the man ate his supper, she could barely contain her racing heart or her nearly frantic breaths, despite trying to.

"Why do you think that you are still here, my child? Given the way you prevented my…ward from his deserved punishment today, I would be well within my rights to do just that, dear. That I have not dismissed you from my servitude and sent you to the gallows? I could have you _hanged_ for your insubordination."

So, there it was then. His threat hung in the air between them, and he was very clearly waiting for her to answer him. The Judge did not speak of his anger, but Madellaine knew the man well enough by this point into her servitude under the man's rule to tell when Claude was upset.

His eyes were filled with betrayal and anger. "I…" she stammered, unable to articulate an adequate response in her mind that she knew would please the man. "I don't know, sir." Madellaine bowed her head in a sign of submission, and she hoped that the Judge would grant her the courtesy of allowing her to explain why she had helped the man inside today. It was the only way.

She hoped her master could understand and had faith in God that Frollo was, though that didn't mean this conversation was going to be an easy one. She shivered and blearily lifted her chin and jutted it out slightly defiantly to meet the Judge's wrathful, burning gaze.

"M—Master, before you get _angry_ ," she whispered hoarsely, raising her hands in defense, and shirking as far back into her chair as she could go as she saw the Judge rose from his chair. "J—just l—let me _explain_ ," she whimpered pitifully, falling silent.

The young hearth keep fully expected Claude to interrupt her, to yell at her, perhaps even hit her and refuse to let her speak, but Master Frollo did no such thing. She heard him huff in frustration and promptly turn his back again, facing the window, his neck craning upwards to look towards Notre Dame.

But Judge Frollo remained silent, which surprised her and ignited a tiny spark of hope, a small ember flame in her chest.

Perhaps Master was willing to hear her out, after all… Madellaine breathed in a deep, shaking breath and continued.

"That boy was being severely mistreated, Your Honor." Her voice was very nearly shaking and cracking, as she knew anything that she said might only further provoke the Judge even more. "I—I simply could not stand by and watch him be hurt, or even _killed_. I—I had to do _something_ , Your Grace…"

The young blonde stiffened as she heard the Judge inhale, still refusing to turn around and face his hearth keep directly, which unnerved her. "You deliberately _defied_ my orders, girl," he spoke in a voice that could almost be described as a low growl.

Madellaine swallowed down a lump in her throat. "W—well yes, I defied your orders because I am under your _servitude_ , Master Frollo, but I am _not_ your _slave_!" she snapped, feeling the familiar hot fire seed of anger inherited from her father begin to churn the pit of her stomach into tense cramps as she stared.

With that, it was enough to finally inspire a reaction out of the Judge as he took one more large step forward and around his desk so that he now towered over the young blonde in her chair, who immediately shrank back into the chair as much as possible, knowing she had made a huge mistake just now.

"You would do _well_ to keep your mouth shut, you heathen _harlot_. You _lied_ to me, have squandered the opportunity given to you when I took you in, saved you from the gallows out of the goodness of my own _heart_ ," growled Frollo irately, stooping slightly and latching onto her forearm, his spindly fingers curling into a tight, iron grip on her arm as he yanked her up. "I should have expected nothing less from a filthy _thief_ like you! To have put any of my trust in such a pitiful being that you could repent your wicked ways was my second greatest failure in life."

_Then what was the first_? Madellaine wanted to ask, the question burning on her tongue, though she dared not ask it.

It hurt to hear her master speak of her this way, though greater things were at stake at the moment than wounded feelings, and Madellaine let out a squeak of fear as the Judge shoved her then, not as hard as he very well could have, but hard enough for the young blonde to stumble backward.

"Please, M—Master, I—I meant no disrespect towards you or your honor, Your Grace. I—I couldn't let that man get _hurt_!" Her breaths became more frantic in her throat after the Judge had shoved her. She wasn't really hurt, but the fact that Master Frollo had lashed out at her physically was unsettling.

The young woman had to fight hard to suppress a sob at this point, though quiet tears streamed steadily down her cheeks in tracts.

Madellaine had known Master Frollo might be angry with her when she had deliberately gone against his orders to not help that poor boy, but she still held onto the hope that she would be able to successfully talk him into understanding.

But the Judge did not seem to care. He took the opportunity of the young blonde's hesitation to violently twist her arms behind her back as he proceeded to drag the poor girl out of his study and into the corridor, heading towards the door.

"I owe you less than you think, girl. I saved your life as merely a kindness out of the goodness of my own heart, but I can see now that I was _wrong_ in that regard. Well. No matter. I relieve you of your duties, girl. You are released from your servitude to me, Barreau. Considering you are Lucien de Barreau's youngest daughter, I am a merciful man, my dear, but do not test my limits. I will let you leave this place with your wretched, miserable life. It is in your father's memory that I allow you to live, girl. Do not waste this opportunity that I am giving you," the judge growled. "You will _leave_ this place. _Tonight_ or God Himself will be the only thing that _saves_ you from me should you get it within your mind to ever set foot here again," Here, he sneered, eliciting a tremor of fear down his hearth keep's spine. "You don't _deserve_ to stand in these halls, wench," Judge Frollo growled. "I _should_ take you out back to the barricade. I could take you up onto the rooftop, young mademoiselle, and throw you to the stones below, that all who would come to work under me or dare to defy my rule can see what happens to someone who _disobeys_ me," Claude growled.

Madellaine had to fight hard to suppress a sob at this point. She had heard talk of the Judge's infamous cruel streak within himself, this pious and righteous man, but she had never imagined she would hear him speak to his own servants in this regard, much less her, and threatening to execute her himself…

The Judge was clutching onto her arm so tightly and with such a horrible harshness, dragging the young blonde faster than Madellaine's panicked steps could possibly keep up with. But Claude merely continued to push her onward, and poor Madellaine was forced to stumble along in front of the man, sometimes tripping over her own feet in her clogs that were borrowed from Sophia, and as a result, slightly too big for her.

It didn't take long before the pair of them were in front of the wide oak double doors of the Palace of Justice's entrance.

Jeanne and Sophia stood idly chatting away with Captain Phoebus, their hands around warm cups of the delicious looking and smelling stew Madellaine had helped prepare not even five minutes ago, and it was probably the petite blonde's pitiful whimpers that made Captain Phoebus and the women look up in confusion, their brows furrowed in surprise.

Jeanne, followed by Sophia, quickly rushed forward and knelt into low curtsies to stand before their master, with Jeanne being the first to speak.

"Master Frollo," questioned Jeanne as her brows came closer together. "Is everything all right?" she asked nervously.

The older woman's sharp, hawklike gaze traveled skittishly from her employer's and then down a tad to meet the young woman's large, unblinking, wide blue eyes as she swallowed down past a lump in her throat.

Madellaine knew if she were to open her mouth and speak, anything she might say would only further incite even more wrath from the Judge and infuriate Frollo further, so she was quick to decide her best course of action was to remain silent for the time being and wait and see.

Madellaine slowly lifted her chin to regard her betrothed, and she barely repressed a quiet sigh of relief and the urge to break down into tears as Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers's expression had shifted from concern to sympathy as the man's kindly hazel eyes drifted to and settled upon the dried tear tracts on her pale cheeks. No doubt she still had visible tears in her eyes and trailing down her cheeks as she sniffed, hoping to regain some small semblance of her composure in front of them.

She wished Phoebus did not have to see her like this, or Jeanne and Sophia, for that matter, and she drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as the Judge's baritone voice reached her throbbing eardrums, shattering the thick silence.

"Captain Phoebus, you will escort this heathen _thief_ off of this premises at once," the Judge snarled through gritted teeth. "See to it she _never_ sets foot in here again. If she _does_ , I'll have her _arrested_ ," he snarled, giving poor Madellaine a solid, hard shake for emphasis, causing the young woman to groan in pain as her arms were stretched further into the unnatural angle that the Judge had so cruelly latched onto her arms, almost breaking them.

Phoebus furrowed his blond brows into a frown.

"Give her to me, sir. I will ensure to it she is escorted away from the Palace of Justice at once, sir. You've my word." He inclined his head. "There's no need for anyone to get hurt," he said, taking a cautious step forward, though before the captain could outstretch his hand for Madellaine to take, Claude shoved the girl roughly forward, eliciting a pained gasp of surprise from her, causing Madellaine to stumble before falling to the ground.

The young blonde now-former heath keep of Claude Frollo's supposed she should have counted herself lucky to be able to break her fall with her hands, though her arms and wrists throbbed and almost felt numb, tingling, from the Judge's awkward position of holding her back at such a strange angle.

She'd be lucky if her kneecaps weren't bruised after this. Madellaine felt a pair of strong, calloused hands pull her to her feet instantly, and Madellaine, out an instinct, fight-or-flight threatening to take over, instantly struggled to get away from him. She did not want to be homeless on the streets of Paris.

Particularly not after dark, where awful things happened to women who were caught out past curfew.

"Let _go_ of me, Phoebus!" she urged frantically, refusing to go without a fight. She knew the gilded, golden-haired captain was at least ten times stronger than she was, that Madellaine stood no chance of overpowering the seasoned warrior that Phoebus was, but she had to try. Remaining compliant would surely bode ill for her.

Fresh tears sprung to her lids at the thought of Jeanne or Sophia, both women of whom she now considered friends to her, refusing to stand up for her. But Phoebus held her in an inescapable, ironclad grip, in what was almost a hug, she thought. He relinquished his grip and shoved her (gentler than Frollo) towards Jeanne, who wrapped her arm around Madellaine and pulled her close, with Sophia doing the same.

Now Madellaine was incredibly confused. "I don't understand," she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking as it broke as she swallowed down the lump in her throat and blinking back tears. But Jeanne spoke up before she could speak further to either one of them, her tone clipped and hard.

Jeanne straightened her posture, her kind green eyes flashing angrily as she tossed her wavy gray hair back over her shoulders.

"Under your servitude or not, I will _not_ let you _hurt_ this child, Master Frollo," Jeanne spoke up, bringing herself to stand in front of his captain of the cathedral guard, who held onto Madellaine's shoulders, firmly keeping her rooted in place. "I know you cannot understand her actions right now, but she did what was _right_. The torture against your ward should not have been allowed to continue. You cannot deny that, Master."

The Judge pursed his lips in anger and growled out of frustration as he made a move towards Captain Phoebus and Sophia, the young brunette having moved to stand beside her friend. And it wasn't until Jeanne firmly planted her feet in front of the pair that Claude ceased his attempts at attacking the girl.

"Get out of my way," the Judge snarled in a low and dangerous voice as he shoved past the small group of people that had gathered to bear witness to the unusual scene by the front doors of the Palace of Justice and made his way down the hall, where the group flinched as they heard the door to his study slam shut, the doors resonating in their rusted old hinges.

Captain Phoebus exhaled a shaking breath through his nose and shook his head in disgust as he stared after the spot where only seconds ago, Judge Frollo had stood before them all.

"You all right, Madellaine?" Phoebus asked at last after a long pause as he turned towards the frightened young blonde. "I'm sorry if we scared you. We weren't going to let Claude hurt you."

"I—I'm okay, th—thank you, Captain," Madellaine murmured, breathing a shaking breath and then a forced laugh. "I—I feel a little light-headed, and embarrassed. I—I didn't…" But her voice broke and she couldn't complete her sentence. She winced as her stomach elicited a low grumble, effectively reminding the young woman she'd had little to eat today, and perhaps her hunger was the reason for her dizziness.

"No need for that, Lena." Sophia offered her a kind smile as she wrapped her arm tighter around the young blonde's shoulders. "The _master_ is the one who should feel shame," she grumbled, scrunching her face, and sticking her tongue out at the empty corridor down which Judge Frollo had vanished. "Did he hurt you, Madellaine?" the young brunette asked as she looked up and down her friend's petite figure with worried eyes. "I mean to say, that is, are you able to follow me back to the kitchens? We'll get you that cup of soup we left you, something more to eat, and then we'll figure out what to do. Can you walk?"

Madellaine nodded. She drew in another shuddering breath as Sophia turned towards Jeanne and Captain Phoebus for confirmation, both adults, Madellaine noticed, looked somber.

"I'm going to take her someplace where Master Frollo won't see her. I think the master needs his space, for the time being, perhaps even the rest of the night," Sophia muttered darkly under her breath as she swiped a lock of her dark chocolate hair out of her eyes. "Master Frollo seeing the girl will be a danger to them both at this point," Sophia explained to Jeanne and Captain Phoebus.

"We'll ensure he won't follow," Jeanne piped up, "though I think it's safe to say Judge Frollo's mind is on other things at the moment." The older woman frowned and glanced down the hallway. "You won't be all right, my dear, if you go and try to apologize to the master, I know you're thinking of it," she added, with a sad little smile tugging at the edges of her lips as she noticed Madellaine staring wistfully down the corridor with dimmed eyes. "Nothing will be solved just yet anyway. Come."

Madellaine numbly nodded, her stomach rolling, twisting, and churning as knots in the pit of her stomach, reluctantly allowing Sophia and Jeanne to lead her back down the hall towards the kitchens and away from her now-former master.

Though before she entered into the kitchens with Sophia and Jeanne, she turned at the waist to regard Captain Phoebus, who had trailed close behind the trio of women to ensure they weren't followed by Frollo in his emotionally compromised state.

"Where will I go?" she whispered, her voice small and meek as she fell silent and looked at the blond-haired captain of the cathedral guard's expression. It was too dim in the corridor to make out the man's features entirely, as he had turned to the side and Madellaine only caught a glimpse of his side profile, but when Captain Phoebus slowly and methodically swiveled his head back around to regard the young blonde, she was relieved at least, to see that the captain had a plan in mind for her safety. Determination and resolve were evident in his features.

"Notre Dame, milady," he murmured in a quiet voice, lowering it to ensure that his usually loud and boisterous tones did not carry down the hallway to where the Judge could hear. "I'll take you to Notre Dame. Claim sanctuary. You'll be safe."

Madellaine nodded, a soft smile on her lips as a small spark of hope rekindled within the confines of her chest at the thought of getting away from this wretched man who dared to call himself an example of the law, though her mind was fixated on seeing Quasimodo again for the third time in one night as she watched Phoebus turn around and stand at attention outside the door, and Madellaine allowed herself to be led inside the kitchens, with Phoebus's face the last thing she saw before Sophia closed the door, the current only acting barrier of safety between herself and the Judge's temper.

Somehow, she thought, everything was going to be okay.

She just had to make it to Notre Dame.


	19. An Unexpected Revelation

**A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! I hope that you're still continuing to enjoy this story! As usual, I don't own any of the characters, except for a few originals sprinkled here throughout.** **  
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**Chapter Nineteen: An Unexpected Revelation**

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**MADELLAINE** had not anticipated that the captain would be so kind as the gilded, golden-haired soldier escorted her off the premises of the Palace of Justice and towards Notre Dame. Her fingers curled around the strap of her satchel, as much to take comfort in the added security of the captain's presence by her side as to need a distraction to avoid thinking of the uncertainty of her future, though Phoebus remained firm on his stance that as long as she stayed within the cathedral walls, given her claim to sanctuary, she would be safe from her master.

Captain Phoebus emanated a tense exhale through his nose beside her, causing the young blonde to cock her head in intrigue and regard the captain of the cathedral guard in silence.

In a way, Madellaine supposed, the pair of them were alike, for both were alone, though the young blonde had not forgotten the strange looks of longing she had caught Phoebus giving Esmeralda prior to Phoebus escorting her and Frollo from the church. She felt the unbridled tension that lingered in the air as the pair paused on the front steps of Notre Dame, neither one willing to go inside quite just yet.

The question burned on the tip of her tongue, just begging to be asked, though before she could, Captain Phoebus spoke up, his voice somber and quiet, not at all like his usual jovial and somewhat boisterous personality.

"You disgraced yourself, mademoiselle, today, I would have you know, at the festival, in case you weren't already aware of this fact, though I don't think I need to remind you, and yet, I feel I have to, my dear thing," Captain Phoebus prompted, somewhat hesitantly, as if unsure whether or not to continue.

Madellaine felt her face drain of all colors as her lips parted open slightly to speak, but the Captain interrupted her before she could so much as utter a single word to the man's claims.

"And I think that you should be _proud_ of yourself, my dear." Phoebus glanced at the young blonde former hearth keep of Frollo's and snorted, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes a bit. "Your face is _not_ the look of a woman who is at ease with your decision, so let me make one thing quite _plain_ , and you would do _well_ to heed my words, Barreau, because I truly _hate_ repeating myself a second time: you did the _right_ thing today when you helped that boy off the pillory and into the church, and don't let anybody else, particularly not him _,_ tell you differently."

There was a beat. A pause. Phoebus, noticing how the young blonde began to fidget uncomfortably and play with the edges of her pinkish tipped fingers to keep them warm, sensing she was not going to respond, took that as his sign to continue. Captain Phoebus paused, biting the wall of his cheek, knowing the topic of conversation he was about to broach was not particularly a pleasant one and yet, there was no going back.

He had to know the truth. Considering he had more or less just saved his would-be-betrothed from a fate worse than death itself, the very least Madellaine de Barreau owed him was an answer and an honest one at that. He had seen the look she had exchanged with the cretin that lurked up in the bell towers.

"That man, that hunchback, he _frightens_ you, mademoiselle, does he not?" he asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant, casual tone as he folded his arms across his chest, admittedly a difficult feat in a full suit of armor but he managed.

Captain Phoebus resisted the urge to smirk at the dawning look of outrage and anger that caused the girl's face to drain.

A bead of sweat formed along her brows, and she blanched.

"No, not _that_ , sweet," he smirked, the edges of his lips turning upwards in a knowing little smile. "That boy frightens you in a completely… _different_ way, one that I do not even think you yourself are aware of yet, but you _will_ be, in time. You'd be wise _not_ to lie to me, Madellaine. I'll know if you're _lying_ , so do us both a favor here before we go inside and tell me the bloody truth…" Captain Phoebus lifted the torch clutched in his gloved hand slightly and was barely able to stifle his smile as he allowed the illumination from the flames to bathe Lucien Barreau's daughter's pale, tired face in the light from the torch.

He took the opportunity of the momentary silence to study the young girl's movements, her wide range of facial expressions.

A wide range of feelings flickered wildly throughout the girl's face as the young blonde was no doubt thinking of the boy. That monster, that demon, that man. Ah, wait. There it was, the briefest flickers of fear. The look was more than enough. Yes, the boy did frighten the blonde but not in that way.

The look on Madellaine de Barreau's face was evident enough for Captain Phoebus without the young girl ever having to draw in a breath to speak and formulate an apt response.

Phoebus snorted, barely repressing the urge to roll his eyes. "I surmised as much," he sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger with his free hand not clutching onto the torch. " _Good_. You _ought_ to be scared of the boy, girl. I'd consider you a _fool_ if you weren't, mademoiselle."

It did not escape the soldier's attention, intuitive as he was, of how his calm baritone voice and choice of words, they sent a tremor down the young blonde's spine that he knew had nothing to do with the chilly night air, though Madellaine tried to hide it.

The girl had spirit. Phoebus would give the wench that much, at least, despite the two of them not wanting this engagement, though considering he'd relinquished the ring intended for her to Esmeralda, that was a path already set in motion that he could not undo, even if he wanted to, and he didn't.

His heart soared at the thought of meeting her again, though he shoved aside thoughts of the ebony-haired dancer for now and forced his attention back to the young blonde on the front steps of Notre Dame, unwilling to enter the old church.

Captain Phoebus exhaled a tense breath that left his lips as a puff of cold vapor. Though it was almost time for the two of them to wrap this conversation up, Phoebus couldn't leave yet. Not until he knew the truth, and not until he saw her again.

Esmeralda was secretly the other reason he had volunteered to escort the young blonde safely to the cathedral off the premises in the hopes of seeing her again for a second time. It seemed to him that Madellaine's mind still needed time to process the fact that the two of them, perhaps for the second time since he had confessed the nature of her father's death, were holding a conversation and she was not at his throat.

When Captain Phoebus finally found his voice again, it shook slightly, and even he was surprised at how soft he sounded. Not at all like himself, but the soldier took it in stride. The man heaved a heavy sigh and lowered the torch.

"I'm afraid I must bear the blame for your current ah, predicament, shall we say, my dear. Had I known _this_ was Frollo's intentions, I could have perhaps saved you the trouble and told you to claim sanctuary as I did with…" But his voice trailed off and he could not bring himself to say Esmeralda's name, though she noticed.

Captain Phoebus watched as he fell silent, noting how Madellaine's head whiplashed sharply upwards as the young girl regarded the captain of the cathedral guard with an incredulous look of disbelief shimmering as unshed moisture in her pale blue orbs. A jaw muscle twitched, and her blue darkened a little bit.

"The choice to help Quasi—I—I mean, _Quasimodo_ , off the pillory and into the church was _my_ choice and _mine_ _alone_ , Ser Phoebus de Chateaupers," she stammered, immediately trying to correct herself and ducked her head so the captain wouldn't see the pink blush speckling along her cheeks as she used the boy's nickname, though it was already too late for that.

He had seen it. The gilded, golden-haired captain smirked as he recollected the strange, faraway look in her eyes she'd gotten when she'd uttered the wretch's nickname, a strange term of endearment, just now.

_I was right, then. There is…something there. I sense it_.

"And yet, here we are," he sighed, wildly gesticulating to the front doors of the cathedral with his free hand. " _You're_ the one who ultimately agreed to our little union, whether either one of us wants this wedding or not, and you're here with me when you could be inside with…him," he snapped.

It did not escape Phoebus's attention how the girl's posture stiffened, nor the growing look of anger in Madellaine's eyes. For a brief moment, the captain wondered if the two of them were going to have a problem as she'd no doubt bring up the memory of him mercy-killing her father again, but she didn't.

Phoebus continued prompting the young blonde lass, trying to elicit any kind of reaction out of the girl that would give a clue as to the true nature of her feelings for the cursed wretch.

"That _boy_ has gotten under your skin, young mademoiselle, as a certain dancer has with _mine_ ," he admitted begrudgingly.

When Madellaine still did not respond and instead, merely proceeded to shoot a slightly distrustful and apprehensive look his way, Phoebus let out a tired sigh, wanting to get to the point.

"You care for her, then. Esmeralda." Madellaine's voice was soft and subdued, as faint as a whisper, and had the captain already not been hanging onto the blonde's every word, he felt certain he would have missed it. He felt himself give a curt nod.

Though what Judge Frollo's former hearth keep asked of him next, Phoebus de Chateaupers was not at all prepared for.

"Then," she began hesitantly, biting her bottom lip and nervously weaving her fingers in between her knuckles, "if you care for her so much, then why did you leave Esmeralda _here_?"

She had to crane her neck up to the twin bell towers and parapets and spires of the illustrious cathedral and sighed.

Phoebus barely stifled his groan. He knew what Madellaine was thinking. Why had he not attempted to play the valiant part of the knight from the stories of old and rescue the girl from her fate? Simple. Because he knew she would be safe within the stone walls, and he could count on Esmeralda to do what was right. She had agreed, after all, though he could not help but wonder why the blonde was asking him all of these questions.

He would have thought it would have been obvious. The choice had seemed obvious to Phoebus, that it was the only way to save Esmeralda's life. There had been such an urgency to it at the time, and now, he wished with all his heart he'd thought of another way, to sneak Esmeralda away from here when it was safe. He still could, he mulled over this idea. But first, he had to find her again, and he hoped he would be inside. He sighed.

"Madellaine." Phoebus studied the young former hearth keep. "You should _know_ why," he acknowledged, not wanting to have to spell it out for the girl, as he considered her intelligent. "I had to protect Esmeralda. It was the only way to save her life."

Madellaine slowly nodded her head at the captain's words, seeming to need a moment for her mind to process his claim, pondering the truth of Phoebus de Chateaupers' statement before swallowing hard past a lump in her throat and confirming her betrothed fear's. "You think Frollo would kill Esmeralda."

Captain Phoebus returned the nod with a grim one of his own and lowered his eyes in understanding. "Yes. He would have tortured her, I suspect, before hanging her for her crimes. Or…"

But his voice cracked, and he could not complete his thought. Madellaine, God bless her, saved Phoebus the trouble of responding.

"Did you at least _tell_ any of this to her before you just _left_ her here? She's a strong woman, Captain Phoebus, easily one of the most resilient women I've ever met, Ser. I think she can take care of herself. Surely, she would understand….?" Madellaine questioned, quirking a thin eyebrow in the captain's direction.

Captain Phoebus shook his head by way of response, allowing a golden lock of his hair to tumble in front of his face in shame. "No. I—I couldn't. There wasn't any time and I… _didn't_."

Madellaine reeled back in surprise, a look of shock and anger dawning on her pretty and pale features. "So, what? Esmeralda thinks you just… _left_ her?" The blonde stared at the captain accusingly. Even _she_ would have been more tactful at making her exit if she were in Phoebus's shoes, or at the very least, have had found some way to deliver Esmeralda a message.

"That _wasn't_ the plan," Phoebus shot back immediately, a harsh bark to his tone. "I—I had every _intention_ of returning to this place once I could find a moment to sneak away from my duties. I was going to fix everything; I just needed more time."

Madellaine quirked a brow at Phoebus as she eyed the man in confusion. "How?" she questioned, folding her arms across her chest, and she was surprised to witness the captain grow even more solemn and subdued than he had on the walk over here. His voice was very nearly a whisper as he explained it.

"I did not merely escort you to your newfound sanctuary today, mademoiselle, simply to see you to safety, though I am more than happy to do that. What kind of a knight would I be if I left a young lass out here to fend for herself on the streets after curfew? Not a very good one," Phoebus added chivalrously, almost as an afterthought. He looked towards Madellaine mournfully, hoping he would not lose the girl's newfound respect. "I came back to get Esmeralda out of here. Take her someplace safe if I can. Someplace far away from all of this."

Madellaine nodded, watching in silence as the captain's kind hazel eyes vented in an unimaginable torment whilst peering up at the twin bell towers of Notre Dame de Paris. She knew what Captain Phoebus was thinking without the man having to say a single word. If Esmeralda was up there with Quasimodo. In truth, Madellaine was curious too, and more than a little excited to see the man again, though she could not quite put her finger on it.

Though he was not a handsome man, far from it, in fact, there remained something of his genuine warmth that was contagious. She itched to spend time with him. Madellaine caught her breath as she recognized all too bloody well what was happening to her and she blinked owlishly, giving her head a curt shake to try to clear her mind of such a troublesome thought. Oh, not that _that_ troubled her, but rather, she feared what the rest of Parisian society would say if she…

"If we…" she whispered hoarsely, her voice trailing off, though it did not go unnoticed by Captain Phoebus. At all.

" _Indeed_ ," he murmured darkly under his breath. "It would seem then, young mademoiselle, that you and I are alike in more ways than we think. We would both sacrifice ourselves for the people that we love." Phoebus had rendered himself speechless.

"But Ser Phoebus, what of your position? A—and Frollo…" Madellaine breathed, hardly daring to believe what she heard.

"A small price to pay," Captain Phoebus smiled wistfully. He had succeeded. "I would give up any career in this world, take myself to wherever I needed to ensure I could be by her side. I would do it. For…for _her_ ," he exclaimed, suddenly quiet.

Madellaine nodded, not bothering to stifle the small smile that crept onto her lips as Captain Phoebus stepped forward having climbed the front steps of Notre Dame and opened the doors of the cathedral, grunting slightly with the effort at how heavy they were, in order to allow the young blonde to enter in.

"Why don't you go and talk to her, Captain?" Madellaine suggested, a hint of a coy little smile flitting across her features that for a moment, reminded Phoebus of that other kitchen wench, Sophia, back at the Palace of Justice, that little minx.

Captain Phoebus startled so badly he accidentally let go of the door sooner than he intended and the damned doors rattled so loudly in their hinges as they slammed shut that he flinched.

_Just bloody great_ , he thought through gritted teeth. _The entire city of Paris probably heard the ruckus I just caused_ …

Blanching, he turned at the waist slightly to regard the young blonde, who stood near the entrance of the north bell tower stairwell, a nervous look of trepidation on her pale face.

Madellaine, sensing he was watching her, turned, and looked at the golden-haired Sun God with a small measure of affection growing in her pale blue orbs. Finally, she swallowed all the bitter bile in her throat and managed to find her voice at last.

As she looked at Captain Phoebus, Madellaine struggled to find the right amount of relief, gratitude, and horror, for if the captain had not volunteered his services when Master Frollo had been in his worst mood, then….she shuddered at the thought.

She didn't like to think about it. "Thank you." It was everything Madellaine could possibly utter at this given point in time, really.

Phoebus merely acknowledged her gratitude with a slight incline of his head. "The Judge will no longer trouble you, milady," he said solemnly, observing her and glancing at the massive stone walls of the illustrious Gothic cathedral, with just a twinge of unease. "As long as you remain within these walls."

"What will you do?" Madellaine's voice was quiet, meek, slightly quivering, a fact that she recognized and hated herself for it, wishing she were stronger, like Esmeralda, but she wasn't.

She discovered that, despite her best efforts, she still did not have that much control over her own body, as it continued to shake, as though she expected Master Frollo to burs through the front doors of the cathedral and drag her to the dungeons of the Palace of Justice at any given bloody moment. She sighed.

Madellaine collapsed on the bottommost step of the stairwell, wanting nothing more than to venture up to Quasi's tower again and talk with the man, but doubt won over, in the end. The hour was late, and he was probably already asleep.

"I will talk to him." His voice possessed such strength and conviction she wished she had it within herself when dealing with the irksome and fearsome Judge Claude Frollo, but alas.

She did not. Madellaine almost huffed in indignation, tapping her foot wildly and folding her arms across her chest.

"And _talking_ will be enough to calm that man down?" she asked, not believing the captain's words for a single instant.

"I don't know, dear," Phoebus admitted begrudgingly, reaching up a hand to scratch at an itch behind his left ear. "But I can _try_. I owe it to you, don't I? As your…intended," he snorted.

Madellaine nodded, realizing she wasn't going to get anything more specific than that. But maybe…just maybe…it would be enough, and she could steer the man towards acting on his urges, as it was evident to her he did not want their wedding to take place any more than she did.

He just needed a nudge, and it was this thought that prompted Madellaine to not bother to stifle the giggle that escaped as she clamped a hand over her mouth. "I never thought I'd be having this conversation with _you_ of all people, Captain de Chateaupers. No offense," she added, throwing a furtive, guilty look towards Phoebus, who looked nonplussed.

Phoebus sniffed and merely brushed away her comment with a curt wave of his hand and motioned with a jerky movement of his head towards the north bell tower stairwell.

"Well?" he pressed, sensing the young blonde's hesitations. "I escorted you _all_ this way, the least you could do is go up there and see that mon—boy," he corrected quickly. He'd been about to say 'monster' and then told himself she would disapprove.

He watched in amusement as the young blonde slowly swiveled her head and made an odd noise at the back of her throat as she turned to look at Phoebus in utter disbelief.

"I—wh— _what_?" she squeaked, sounding shocked. "N—no, I—I _couldn't_. It's late, what if he's asleep, Captain?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Then wake him up! He _likes_ you, he'll tolerate your presence in his tower, whereas I…"

Here, Captain Phoebus shot her a rather lopsided grin and hoped it was enough to convey the simple meaning of his message. The boy had not taken kindly to his presence in his towers, his home, and he knew if he went up there alone, especially if Esmeralda happened to be up there too, it would bode ill for him, but if _she_ went, then he might stand a chance.

The soldier watched out of the corner of his eye as the girl fought the inner conflict waging war within her mind. Most people, he knew, would be worried of his suggestion of taking him up on the offer simply out of what that hideous creature would do to them once they reached the top of the man's tower.

But with this celestial-like blonde creature, Phoebus sensed this was not exactly the case. No, something else entirely was on her mind. Noting her inner struggle was not about to cease anytime soon, he spoke again, this time more sincere.

"Please." He was aware he was begging now, or as close to it as he could come short of groveling at the woman's feet. "You would be doing me an enormous favor by going up there and seeing if she's there. And if something goes wrong, I will bear the brunt of the blame. I can promise you that, Madellaine. _Please_."

"Um, that's precisely what I'm afraid will happen, Captain."

Raising his eyebrows in alarm, Captain Phoebus could not help but scoff at the young blonde's comment. No wonder the creature from the festival today and the Judge had taken such an interest in this girl.

She had the power to disarm anyone and tear them to shreds with just a single retort of overwhelming empathy and kindness. Phoebus began to doubt whether or not she would do this one thing for it. He couldn't shake the sense from his body, but he had a feeling that the girl was up there.

With _him_. That… _boy_.

The thought plastered as a quiet vibration and made his skin crawl as he pursed his lips into a thin frown. Madellaine had clearly noticed that through Captain Phoebus's slightly teasing lilt to his tone, something somber lurked underneath the surface, and he refused to leave the cathedral until speaking with Esmeralda again, at least once.

"No, I—I couldn't…" Madellaine whispered hoarsely, all the while never once averting her gaze from the dark bell tower's stairwell behind her. She put her hand over her mouth as she thought that would somehow be the silencer to the voices in her head.

Phoebus wasn't sure whether or not to laugh out loud or not and settled instead for resting his right cheek in his fist with his elbow propped up onto his knee as he sat on the bottommost step of the tower stairwell with the young blonde while the soldier waited patiently for the hearth keep to collect herself.

Unable to sit still, the girl bounded forward on the heels of her brown leather boots and began to pace a small line back and forth between the black and white checkered tiles beneath her feet. She had this nervous habit of doing so when thinking. Her pacing was not fast, Captain Phoebus noticed, but leisurely.

Captain Phoebus resisted the urge to roll his eyes and let out a dark little chuckle as he shook his head in bemusement at the inner turmoil the poor blonde lass was currently suffering.

"I—I could though, b—but what would I _say_? For God's sake, Phoebus, I—I just _met_ the man, a—and Esmeralda too, for that matter, a—and what you ask of me is no small feat, soldier!"

The girl was babbling now, and her cheeks flushed high with color, now a rosy pink in embarrassment as Phoebus let out a sigh, recognizing he would have to diffuse the situation.

Madellaine threw her hands out beside her, gesturing to no one in particular, though Phoebus was no bumbling fool. He knew she was asking him what he thought she should do.

The young blonde let herself sigh in an unrestrained fashion as she halted dead in her tracks, ceasing her restless pacing, shifting her weight from one foot to the other to rest on her right leg. Madellaine couldn't believe she was entertaining the idea of going back up there again unannounced in search of her, all because Captain Phoebus didn't want to disturb the boy.

"A—are you _afraid_ of him, Captain?" Madellaine blurted out and immediately clamped a hand over her mouth in shock.

The question tumbled unchecked from her lips before she could stop herself, and the blonde could tell by the look of shock that colored the captain's weathered and sun-stricken face that her words had hit their mark, for his face blanched. He straightened his posture and rose from the step, towering over the young lass at easily three heads taller than she was, puffing out his chest slightly in indignation.

" _No_ ," he growled, though upon seeing the briefest flickers of fear in her eyes as she was no doubt fearing of a similar temperament to that of her former master, Phoebus softened as he looked at her. "But I _do_ think my best bet at finding Esmeralda again is if you go up there, young mademoiselle. That creature _likes_ you, Lena."

Phoebus took note of how her face flushed in anger at the use of the term 'creature' to describe Judge Frollo's ward, but he knew this to be true. There was no other word to describe a wretch like that, and everybody else in Paris bloody _knew_ it, too.

" _Don't_ call him that. He is not a creature, not a monster. No less human than you or I," she snapped, and for a moment, Phoebus was surprised to see the young woman's pale blue eyes flash indignantly in anger and grow darker, cerulean in color.

Both blue eyes, the captain thought in a sense of astonishment as he found himself momentarily entranced by his would-be-fiancée's gaze. Her and the demon upstairs have the same eyes. Phoebus bit the wall of his cheek and let out a sigh.

"Very well. I apologize for my words. I meant no offense, surely, you know that. It is not much, what I ask of you, Madellaine. Five minutes, my dear. No more, and no less than that. No one is better suited than this task but you. You're tiny, and quiet as a mouse, mademoiselle. Whereas if I go up…." He heaved another sigh and tapped on the metal plate of his breastplate as it echoed. "Well. It's obvious…I think I speak for the both of us when I say the if I were to go up, considering I command the very soldiers who had a hand in humiliating him," he growled, and Madellaine was quick to notice the remorseful note of regret and anger that seeped its way into his normally kind but boisterous tones, "then I don't think he will react too favorably to seeing me again, don't you think?" he pressed. Without waiting for her answer, much less give her time to speak, Captain Phoebus continued. "Just…go up there, take a quick peek around, and tell me if she is there."

Madellaine nodded, biting down on her bottom lip. "If she is?" she pressed, wanting to know what she would do once she found the Romani dancer. "What then? You will come up?"

Phoebus returned the blonde's nod with one of his own.

"Yes."

Madellaine fell silent, still biting down hard on her bottom lip hard enough to pierce and crack the skin of her lip, causing it to bleed as she craned her neck behind her to look at the stairwell that led up into the poor deformed creature's towers.

She curled her shaking hands into fists at her sides before moving one of them to rest over the strap of her brown leather satchel, seeming that a better release for her fit of anxiety than the skin of her palms and squeezed. Hard. "Oooh, I can't believe I'm _doing_ this. I—I must be out of my mind! What if he's _asleep_?"

Madellaine shot Captain Phoebus a truly withering look that had the blonde the ability, would have turned the Sun God to stone, and Phoebus supposed he ought to be very grateful the blonde girl did not possess the arts of magic and witchcraft.

She bit down hard on her tongue and then the wall of her cheek and gave her head a curt shake back and forth to clear her mind, but it was no use. Her mind and resolve were set.

Phoebus smirked, not bothering to hide his triumphant grin. He had seen it in the girl's blue eyes that she would go up before Madellaine was even made aware of it for herself.

"Good luck." Was all he said to her as he sat back down on the bottom step and waited for the girl to come down with La Esmeralda.

If Madellaine heard Phoebus's words, she pointedly ignored them. "I really _am_ a stupid woman, Captain," she grumbled darkly under her breath. "You'll _owe_ me one after this, Ser…."

"You may hold me to that if you wish," Captain Phoebus responded jovially by shooting the young blonde a kind smile.

Madellaine nodded, exhaling a shaking breath through her nose, determination, and resolve clear upon her features as she lifted the skirts of her now-given-to her dark blue velvet gown from Jeanne that the head cook had said she could keep when Captain Phoebus had escorted her away from the Palace of Justice. For the cold, winter months still ahead, Jeanne said.

Touched by her generosity, Madellaine knew she'd have to find a way to repay the older woman someday for her kindness.

The blonde shook her head as she ascended the stairwell that led to the north bell tower loft as quietly as she possibly could, having had no idea how the bloody hell she'd managed to talk herself into this? She reached up a hand to tuck a wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear and huffed in frustration, her blood boiling in her veins as she swore she heard Phoebus snort.

Why? _Why_? _Why_ was she so _stupid_? She wished for nothing more than to turn on the heel of her boot and bolt for back downstairs to the main level of the sanctuary and visit the man tomorrow in daylight when he was surely better rested, but her stubborn legs held a mind of their own and wouldn't let her.

Oh, this was bloody _stupid_ , and Phoebus knew it. Damn him. When she reached the top of the stairwell and stood once again for a third time in one day in front of the small wooden door that led to the forlorn and lonesome bell ringer's abode, she froze. "I really _am_ a stupid woman," Madellaine groaned, whisper hissing her words through gritted teeth as her hand had a mind of its own as it rose to the door and her slender fingers curled around the chipped doorknob, and with a firm twist and ginger push, the small wooden door creaked open, so damned loud.

Madellaine breathed a shaking and heavy sigh as she gingerly slipped in through the door and vanished into the darkness, ready to see her new friend Quasimodo yet again.

She could only hope that this time, he was in a much better mood than before…

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**A/N: Hopefully, the story is still holding your attention! I wanted Madellaine and Phoebus to have that conversation because I feel like it was warranted and there are still some unresolved tensions surrounding her father's death, but that's to come later in a future chapter. It's been a couple of chapters since we checked in on Quasi and Esmeralda, so that's coming up in Ch. 20 :)**

**Stay tuned for more, my lovely readers and fellow Disney/Broadway musical fans!**


	20. Unrequited Love

**A/N: Eep. The long chapter is long, but oh well. I feel like there were a lot of unspoken things in this chapter that eventually are going to be addressed, and I do feel bad for our beloved bell ringer as to what happens, but I think Madellaine is absolutely the cutest for him (hint, hint!) and Esmeralda, IMHO, has always belonged with Phoebus. They're complements of one another, like yin and yang, and go really well together.**

**Anyway, on with the show. I have a few more Quasi/Madellaine moments planned, as well as Esmeralda/Phoebus segments mapped out in my little outline before things start to get serious, so stay tuned!**

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**Chapter Twenty: Unrequited Love**

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**ESMERALDA** wondered if home to her was lost for good. The young Romani tried to will her mind to think of nothing as she trailed close behind Quasimodo, allowing the misshapen man to take a small modicum of comfort in showing her the rest of his bells, the ones he had not gotten around to, though admittedly, he had saved the best for last as the boy dragged her out to the balcony terrace, frightening her as he hopped up onto the ledge as she gripped onto the railing, her knuckles practically white-boned with the effort to steady herself as she swallowed hard and forced herself to look out and across rather than down.

It wasn't necessarily that she had a fear of heights, per se, but still, there was something about being so high up, here at the top of the world that was both terrifying and enthralling. Her fists balled tightly against her anger towards her current predicament, her chest heaving for the calm that had nothing to do with the frigid temperatures of the cold night air.

She had spent an hour, almost a chasm while in the man's simple bell tower loft fighting to keep herself from sinking into an anguished misery. She was…she was _trapped_ here.

_Forever_. Esmeralda's skin crawled at just the concept. As lovely and eerily beautiful as the illustrious cathedral was, this was not home. Home was Clopin's Court of Miracles. Home was family.

This…this was _not_ her home.

Esmeralda ground her teeth in annoyance at what that soldier, _Phoebus_ , had done to her. Racked with the memory of that golden-haired soldier boy who had effectively saved her life from a fate worse than this as the alternative, Esmeralda's heart felt like a hollow pit in her chest. Her very skin tingled and burned, mocking her for the knowledge of that soldier that she fondly remembered, whose golden ring she wore tenderly, though hidden, around her neck.

Fighting the bitter despair that she knew would come, she battled the tears that stung at her eyes and swallowed them back. No. She would not cry. She had bloody cried well enough.

But God, she _missed_ Clopin and old Gwen. She missed them terribly and she had naught been separated from the pair of them but a few precious hours at best. Since the FOF's commencement and its end. The thought of the pair had not filled her eyes with tears as perhaps her tear ducts had dried up.

Esmeralda knew she had to wax and seal off any prayer of returning to the Court of Miracles, for there were soldiers, under the command of the 'Sun God' no less, that guarded the doors.

Hell be to Judge Frollo, hell to all of them who had a part in trapping her here. But… _why_? Esmeralda blinked in wonderment. Why had the Judge behaved in such an abhorrent way? What had she done? Had she _said_ something, _done_ something, to warrant being on the receiving end of his temper?

The thought of being stuck within these stone walls made her insides revolt and her stomach give a painful lurch and churn within its pit as she swallowed back bitter acidic bile.

Though it was not enough to stop the abrupt bitterness from seeping into the pit of her stomach. Captain Phoebus. _Phoebus. Phoebus de Chateaupers_. Just the thought of the golden-haired Sun God's name irked her, sending her spine weak. A handsome soldier boy, of that there was no denying.

_He_ was the reason she was trapped up here, never to return home under fear of death. Esmeralda let out a tired sigh.

And yet, she knew she could not hold the captain of the cathedral guard _entirely_ at fault for the precarious predicament she had found herself in. She could have refused his claims. She could have said _no_.

But then the Judge and his men would have had her forcefully removed from the church and arrested, and now, rather than being up here at the top of the world with a wonderfully kind, if not _odd_ boy, she would no doubt be in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice and tortured.

The Romani dancer let out an exasperated sigh and dragged the palm of her hand down her forehead and along her cheek, forcing her mind to come to an abrupt thought in her condemnation of the golden-haired captain of the cathedral guard. She could not— _would_ not—blame Phoebus for something he was not responsible for. As he'd said, there'd been no other way. Were that there had been, perhaps he might have taken it.

Esmeralda felt her stomach drop and her knees go weak, feeling the fear well up within her.

With no hope of seeing home again, what else was there to do when the memories of her time spent in Clopin's court, and old Gwendolyn, God bless that woman who had taken her in when she had become orphaned, these painful emotions, came flooding to her all at once, then?

As peaceful as the cathedral was, Esmeralda had decided, if she had nothing to distract her from thoughts of her home, of seeing that soldier boy again, and of him, she feared the thoughts of being trapped here for the rest of her life would undoubtedly consume her. Yet, the worst thought of all was wondering if she would disappoint Quasi by confessing that she wished for nothing more than to leave, and then cursed herself.

Esmeralda clenched her teeth so hard she felt her molars snap together tighter than rigor mortis as heat crept to her cheeks. She was being incredibly selfish, she recognized this. How could she possibly talk of missing home when the man had lived up in these desolate, drafty bell towers for over twenty years, his entire life, and never allowed to leave here? Desperate for something to distract herself to avoid her mind dwelling down that dark path, she glanced sideways at Quasi out of the corner of her eye and noticed him looking.

She didn't bother stifling the smile as a pink blush crept along his cheeks as he ducked his head in shame and pointedly averted his gaze, seemingly embarrassed at having been caught. If an outsider saw the two new friends, they would see the silhouettes of a slender woman gripping onto the balcony railing for support, and what they would presume to be one of the cathedral's gargoyles perched at an odd position next to her, sans wings, but of course, this was the cathedral's bell ringer.

That monster, that wretch, that accursed demonic man. Esmeralda shivered involuntarily and cursed herself for _thinking_ such a thought, her conscience wracked with pity for the creature. Esmeralda closed her eyes and took a deep breath of cold air, allowing the frigid night air, fresh as it was, to fill her lungs as though they were starved of air, and she inhaled selfishly.

With a shake of her head, a dark curl tumbling in front of her face as she did so, Esmeralda frowned over at Quasimodo.

"Quasi?" she questioned, quirking a delicately arched, thin eyebrow at the boy's way. "Are you well? You've been…quiet."

If it was at all possible, the boy's blush intensified as he ducked his head, a lock of coarse, fiery red hair falling limply in front of his one good eye, effectively shielding him from Esmeralda.

"Y—yes," he stammered in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice, though his light, tenor tone suggested otherwise. "I—I was just thinking that…there's no view quite like this," he mumbled, turning his gaze back out towards Paris.

Esmeralda slowly nodded her head in agreement with the boy's claim. That much, admittedly, she could agree upon.

"No," she murmured thoughtfully, propping her elbows up on the railing's ledge and resting her head in both her hands. "Our king himself probably doesn't even have a view quite like this. You're lucky, you know. All this room to yourself. It truly does seem like a wonderful place to live, my friend. Aye, but I could stay up here forever," she sighed wistfully, her pale green orbs shimmering with unshed tears, much to Esmeralda's awe.

She had previously believed all of her tears to be spent. Esmeralda did not flinch or shirk away as she noticed a light igniting in Quasimodo's pale blue orbs as he began to understand, and she flinched, recognizing the moment would come soon enough when she would have to be truthful with the man and confide in her wish to leave, as peaceful as his towers were and as gentle and kind a soul as Quasi was, she could not stay here.

_Damn him_ , she thought, her mind wandering to thoughts of the Judge and how the handsome older chap had looked at her. He was _right_ , and bloody damn him for it, then. Her kind _didn't_ do well inside stone walls, and she was already proving his point by how fidgety she was becoming.

"Y—you _could_ , you know," came his response, causing Esmeralda to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and turn away.

"No. I couldn't." Esmeralda shook her head vehemently in response and wrapped her arms around her middle, actively averting the boy's gaze. "We don't do well inside stone _walls_."

Quasi paused, the familiar aching whelms igniting a fiery pit in the confines of his chest at the Romani dancer's cold words. She had been unable to keep the note of bitterness from seeping into her tones, and Quasi had heard it for himself.

As kind of a woman as Esmeralda was, she could not stay. More so, he could do nothing but feel entrapped by a web of sadness as he silently looked upon the raven-haired beauty standing before him, leaning against the railing in a casual manner, wistfully looking out at the vast, dark streets of Paris with a look of longing and a tinge of melancholia in her eyes.

His skin still tingled where Esmeralda had touched him, and his heartbeat erratically in his chest so hard that Quasi thought it might grow wings and fly out like one of the bell tower pigeons. There were butterflies—no, _lions_ —in his chest, but he did not deny that these new sensations, these foreign feelings, felt good. He finally admitted to himself what he knew all along.

That he liked her. A _lot_. And he wanted to be with her if only he could convince her to stay, though as Quasi glanced at Esmeralda out of the corner of his eyes, he felt his mouth go dry.

_She can't stay here_ , her conscience piped up. _She has her own family to go to, hasn't she? They are worried sick over her_!

Quasi parted his lips open slightly to speak, but he could not seem to manage to find his voice. He felt his cheeks flush hot, and his stomach was heavy. His heart pounded in his throat, threatening to break out as he painfully twisted his gloved hands together in a fit of nervous agitation and fear.

Esmeralda's sharp, inquisitive green eyes scanned the streets below, letting out a mournful sigh at the number of guards stationed at the front, side, and rear exits of the church. His stayed locked on hers. Quasi felt his body numb completely as Esmeralda shifted at the waist and took a cautious step towards him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He became painfully aware of the rip in his thick woolen green tunic, thinking that he would need another one soon.

The moment their gazes met and their eyes locked, Esmeralda's green eyes pierced Quasi's like he had been staring at the sun for too long. She was his crush, but she would _never_ be his.

That much Quasimodo already knew for himself, and he would be damned well within his right mind to get this notion of the idea that a woman could dare to love a creature like him out of his mind once and for all, lest it takes him to a point of no return, but…but…ah, God, her very _smell_ was flooding his nose!

Quasimodo clenched his shaking gloved hands into fists and lowered them to his sides, struggling to resist the call of her aura and hoped that he wasn't being blatantly obvious in doing so. Whatever perfume she wore smelled distinctively of strawberries and honey, Quasi noticed, as the breeze tousled her hair into buoyant curls and off her neck, blowing the scent of Esmeralda's hair his way.

He parted his lips open to speak, and then, she uttered something he never thought he'd hear her say.

"I will wait for him. For Phoebus," she murmured quietly.

Quasi felt as though a lance had been thrust deep into his chest, and an abrupt bitterness settled into the pit of his stomach. He reeled back and leaped off the balcony railing, limping away from Esmeralda more than a few paces, anything to put a little distance between himself and his new friend.

This was not an answer Quasimodo had been expecting from the young woman. She… she loved _him_? That _soldier_?! The skies above his head were dark and beautiful, the night cold yet alluring, and yet, the boy paid it no mind at all. If Esmeralda noticed Quasi's adverse reaction, she paid it no mind, though the bell ringer believed the girl to be oblivious to his sudden state of shock over her unexpected confession.

The same man whom he had nothing from himself to compare against currently held Esmeralda's heart. _Not_ him. This Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers had everything of life's luxuries he could ever want that Quasi simply, did not. The perfection of every detail in his chiseled, perfected appearance. A breathtaking manly appearance. Golden blond hair that rivaled the color of the sun itself, long enough for the man to pull back into a loose ponytail when it suited the man.

Even the captain's scent that smelled strangely of blood, victims, causalities of war, and a well-timed wink of those hazel eyes of the captain's was enough to make this woman swoon.

At that, Quasimodo ground his teeth together in annoyance and tightly squeezed his eyes shut as visions of the handsome man's face from earlier flitted through the forefront of his mind.

It was then that Quasi decided he _hated_ Captain Phoebus. He hated those wickedly deceiving hazel brown eyes, those strands of blond hair, the sharp, angular jawline, perfect nose, the vision of his fair skin slightly tanned by being outside in the sunlight for many years while on the front of the war, his biceps.

He hated them so because these were what made Esmeralda's eyes soften and speak the words she'd just uttered.

Quasimodo stifled the urge to growl in frustration as he carded a gloved hand through his thick mop of coarse ginger hair, his fingers coming away sticky as they entangled themselves in his hair.

"Y—you would wait…for…for _him_?" he queried without bothering to look at Esmeralda, flinching as he was aware that his question came out harsher than he intended. Gone were the gentle, soothing tenor-like tones of his voice. Now it merely sounded grating, rough, and coarse, as though someone was dragging a wooden crate along with the stones below.

If Esmeralda was at all surprised by the shift in his countenance, she hid her shock well and merely nodded, looking towards the stars, with Quasi reluctantly following her gaze. This time, Esmeralda merely nodded instead of offering up a verbal response.

It was a decent enough start, he supposed, to a conversation that, unknown to Esmeralda, broke his heart. He was broaching this point of no return, and the topic of their conversation was sure to add yet another layer of salt onto the already tender wound that was his fractured, broken heart.

And yet, Quasimodo could not seem to stop himself doing it. He had to know for certain, one way or another if she felt… Wait. _Felt_?! Quasi's cobalt blue orbs flung wide open in shock and wonderment as he pondered over the nature of these foreign feelings which twisted his stomach into intense cramps.

What exactly did Esmeralda feel for him? He knew all too bloody well what was. A monster. A wretch. A demon. The 'almost-made.' But what was it that she felt for him, his friend? Pain? Regret? Despair? A likeness? _Something_? _Anything_? Quasi gave his head a curt shake to clear it, almost letting out a growl of frustration as he did so, which earned a concerned stare with raised, furrowed eyebrows from Esmeralda.

But he could not yearn for that. It—it was _forbidden_. Master Frollo would be furious if he were to ever learn the truth. Quasi narrowed his eyes and turned his head sharply to the left and out towards the River Seine to avoid looking at her.

"A—are you _certain_ that your soldier will come? For you've waited long enough. I would have thought, if he truly _cared_ , he'd have come for you by now." Here, he spat the word cared as though it were a bitter poison that had settled upon his tongue.

Quasi knew Esmeralda couldn't see it, but he could. The look of longing which rested in her pale green orbs, that faraway look. He saw how she ached for that soldier, from the indistinct shivering of her body from the cold that consumed her entirely.

"Yes," she murmured, nodding her head, voice quiet. "I can still wait. He—he said that he would come," Esmeralda offered.

It did not escape the bell ringer's attention that the girl's left hand drifted up towards her chest, winding around a simple piece of jewelry on a chain around her neck, though before he could get a closer look at it, she blushed and lowered her hand.

The chain was tucked underneath the material of her simple purple dress before the boy had the opportunity to see what it was that she had been caressing and held so dear to her.

Esmeralda noticed Quasi looking and inclined her head, lowering her lashes and she gave the boy a thoughtful smile. Quasi gulped and felt his skin beneath his long-sleeved linen undershirt and thick green woolen tunic utterly crawl. Though hurt as he was, she could never know the truth. That her soldier boy would most likely not come. He had seen the pride in that man's eyes, how he valued his new position.

"E—Esmeralda," he began hesitantly, unsure of how to phrase exactly what was on his mind, not wanting to upset her. It was a thin, delicate line he was walking across, and one poorly phrased statement could spell disaster for his new friend. "Wh—what if he doesn't come? You should go and rest." He looked away and ducked his head as to hide the tears surfacing from his tired eyes that knew more than he'd ever let on to her.

But to his disdain, Esmeralda shook her head, the gesture very nearly crushing his heart right there on the spot. "Of course, he will come, my friend, but it is _you_ that should be resting. I need to wait for him. He—Captain Phoebus said that he'd come." She affirmed to him, unaware of the tear that slipped from Quasi's good eye as the man averted the girl's gaze.

That sealed it off in his mind hotter than molten lava. The girl could not stay here. She did not belong in the tower with him, as much as he yearned for it to happen, it could not be so. It pained him, not only because Esmeralda could not be his, but also that Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers would not love the girl as he could. _He_ knew this but Esmeralda did not.

"Esmeralda," he breathed lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper so that the girl did not hear him, before deciding to continue. "I—if you ever need someone to confide to, I'll be here waiting."

And with that, he turned further away so as to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of his linen undershirt which he could contain no longer, though Esmeralda remained oblivious. Exhaling a shaking breath through his nose, his tears spent as he angrily flicked away the last wretched tear that fell, he rose his head and jutted out his chin, hardening his features. He winced inwardly, biting the wall of his cheek as she flinched, no doubt seeing the dawning anger within his pale blue orbs, the monster that he truly knew himself to be as he thought of _him_. Of _Phoebus_.

And Quasimodo could do nothing to stop it.

Notre Dame's sole bell ringer ran his tongue along the top wall of his teeth as he reluctantly tore his gaze from the woman currently shattering his already fragile heart into a thousand pieces as he let out a sigh and looked towards the edge of Paris.

There _was_ a way...he could help her escape by scaling the walls of the cathedral, just as he had done earlier this afternoon.

And given what he knew now, where her affections and her heart lay, or rather, with whom they rested, he could not have her here in the tower with him if the experience would only wound him further. No. It had to be this way. It was what's best.

Steeling himself, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitched, he slowly swiveled his head to his right and regarded Esmeralda.

"I—I can…help you get to _him_ ," he uttered, at last, gritting his teeth and momentarily shutting his eyes as he spoke, though not without great difficulty, as though just thinking of Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, that golden-haired bastard of a man, was causing the bell ringer copious untold amounts of pain.

A mixture of sickness and happiness churned within the pits of his stomach as he opened his eyes and watched, mournfully so, as a soft, hopeful smile slowly snaked its way onto Esmeralda's features. " _Really_? _How_? But there's no way out, my friend, there are soldiers posted at every single door."

Esmeralda's hopeful expression was almost worth it, Quasimodo thought, thought the look on her face soon faded as her smile faltered as she turned her gaze to the square below.

She ought to have known between the two of them they could have come up with something like this sooner rather than later, but as to the reason why he had not suggested it previously was obvious to her. Esmeralda had seen it for herself.

The boy cared for her, this much she could tell. She was no daft bimbo, not blind.

Still, as much as she found herself drawn to Captain Phoebus, as her hand yet again found its way to the ring on its chain around her neck, she loathed the idea of leaving the boy up here all alone by himself with nothing but the bells and these hideous-looking stone gargoyles for his company.

"And what of _you_ , my friend? Aye, Quasimodo, but are you just to say up here within these towers and be content to be _alone_? You're my _friend_ , Quasi. I—I cannot let you do this. Come with me, oh yes, but come with me, to the Court of Miracles. Leave this place _and_ your master behind. He does not _appreciate_ you!" she pleaded suddenly, biting down on her bottom lip.

Quasi almost laughed, a bitter laugh to himself full of self-loathing and hatred at what he was, though he managed to stop himself upon hearing her words, thinking she'd not appreciate it.

"N—no, Esmeralda, th—thank you," he murmured quietly, beginning to sound like his old self again as the bitterness seeped out of his tones, melting away like wax off of a candle. "M—my master, Frollo. He will punish me again if I disobey his orders a second time. You _saw_ what happened out there today. I cannot go beyond these walls. This is my sanctuary," he urged.

As if to emphasize his point, he affectionately patted the balcony's railing with his gloved hand and shot her a smile.

Esmeralda, however, did not seem to be at all convinced, for she merely raised her eyebrows in alarm and glared at Quasi.

The young woman huffed in frustration and folded her arms across her chest. Her blood ignited and coursed through her veins, boiling hotter than Quasimodo's hot lead that he used to fix the bells' cracks in their sides at the thought of the Judge.

"Quasi, my friend, you are a _kind_ man, with a good, _good_ heart, but your master was wrong about you. Of _both_ of us. It is _not_ acceptable, the things that he does to you, and it is not right that he has forbidden you to leave this place. His teachings of the world from his _twisted_ view have led you astray and are eschewed. Can you not see that the man is _wrong_?" she replied.

Esmeralda's words were cold, and she recognized this, and she could not help but wonder how many times over the course of their friendship for as long as Judge Frollo drew in a breath, that she would have to have this conversation with the man.

Without waiting for the boy to respond, she shot out a hand and clasped at one of his gloved hands, his right, and wrenched off his glove and traced the patterns of his scars, a few red and pink jagged lines, with the pads of her fingertips.

" _He_ does this to you," she growled, a note of anger in her quiet tone now. "Can you not see for yourself that this is abuse, Quasi?" Esmeralda was not at all surprised when the young man violently shirked his hand out of her grasp and put his glove back on, shooting her an admonishing, withering look of hurt.

Quasi ground his teeth and lowered his head, allowing that one stubborn lock of his red hair to fall in front of his face like a curtain, effectively shielding his line of sight from La Esmeralda.

Her words sent a spiraling warmth of shame straight to his heart. As wonderful as going with Esmeralda sounded, he could not. All that he had known was up here in these towers, here at the top of the world, and Master Frollo would be utterly _furious_.

His silence, in Esmeralda's mind, was telling enough. She let out a frustrated sigh in an unrestrained fashion and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him slightly to face her again.

"Quasi…you are _blinded_ by your own ignorance. I can only pray that you will come to realize it before it is too _late_ ," she began, the edges of her voice hardened, for she was desperate to get the boy to see the truth. "The Judge's mind is being _twisted_ and _warped_ by a fear of you, that which he does not understand. And fear makes people do terrible things, my friend. I know that I cannot convince you to change your mind, but…please be careful."

She whispered her last words and fell silent at last.

"You have an understanding of the world around you, limited though it may be, you have observed much over your time up here in these towers," Esmeralda added, glancing around the balcony and back over her shoulder towards the loft in intrigue, before turning her head back around to regard him, "but I am afraid that it is not enough. Your master isn't what's keeping you trapped up here. And…" her voice cracked and trailed off.

The hunchback sighed sadly and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, not wanting to hear any more of her wise words, for Quasi knew Esmeralda was right. His heart and stomach gave a painful clench as he was quick to recognize her words were true.

"I—I'm sorry, but I...can't come with you, Esmeralda, but I'll never forget you," he murmured, at last, his eyes drifting to the side to linger of her hand upon his shoulder, thinking that, for the second time in one day, he had met a woman who did not seem to be afraid of his monstrous form, and this provoked him to think of the young blonde from earlier.

Of Madellaine. The sweet girl from his dreams who he could never manage to save. His heart, that damned stubborn corded muscle within the confines of his wretched chest, lurched at the thought of her. Yet another woman to invoke these foreign feelings so new to him, and he wondered if he would ever see her again, as visions of Madellaine's pale blue orbs drenched his serene memory. Esmeralda smiled sadly, the light in her pale green orbs dimming a little as the corners of her mouth twitched, the smile not reaching her eyes, and spoke, pulling him from his thoughts of the young blonde hearth keep of Master Frollo's.

"I wish that I could say that I understand your reasoning, my friend, but I do not," she replied, retracting her hand after a moment or two more of squeezing his shoulder in a kind gesture. She hesitated, biting down on her bottom lip before glancing down at the railing, and what words tumbled unchecked from her lips, even Quasimodo was not prepared for. "I—I'm afraid I have no farthings or shillings with which to pay you for your kindness in helping me escape, my friend, but I can offer you something else in return. I can tell you your fortune," she whispered, the soft susurration of her tone piercing Quasi's heart like a knife as he reeled backward in utter shock.

Quasi blinked owlishly at the young Romani woman, struggling to recollect what little Master Frollo had told him of these 'filthy, heathen gypsies,' how they told false fortunes, read the lines between your palms, and all for a few gold coins. _Lies_. _Lies_ , Master Frollo claimed, and yet when Quasi desperately searched Esmeralda's eyes of piercing green for the truth, he could detect no hint of malice or deceit within them.

"My—my fortune?" he repeated, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Esmeralda merely offered him a coy little half-smile, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

"Yes. It is the least I could do for you, my friend, considering what you are doing for me is no small feat. I can see it's piqued your interest if nothing else. Here. Give me your hand." Before the redhaired bell ringer could think about uttering a single word in response, Esmeralda did not bother to ask permission before gingerly taking hold of his hand and slipping her hand into his, gently removing his glove.

She looked deep into Quasi's blue eyes, her gaze unabashed and unwavering as if she searched for something.

"You will find happiness, my friend, in this world, even if it's not in the way that you expect," murmured Esmeralda after a moment in silence, narrowing her green eyes, her gaze intense. "Love. Yes. I see that. _True_ love, a rarity in this world," she muttered, a wistful, mournful expression on her face, "You will feel a rare and _pure_ love for this person and they're going—"

Though just as Quasimodo had been intently listening, Esmeralda promptly let go of his hand and jerked back, as though the touch of his palm against hers had burned her, a disturbed expression on her face as it drained of all colors.

"Wh—what is it?" the bell ringer stammered worriedly. "H—has something… _happened_? What—what did you _see_ just now?"

He could not help the cold chill that wafted down his spine that had nothing to do with the frigid temperatures of the January night air, wondering if her vision had to do with _her_.

Of Madellaine, and how he continuously failed in his nightmares to save her life. He waited for Esmeralda to answer him and decided he was quick to dislike the nebulous look forming on her pretty features as she gingerly rubbed her hand.

But as quickly as the brief flicker of fear darted through her pale green eyes, it was gone, and she dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand.

"Nothing, Quasi. Nothing worth troubling yourself over," she answered airily. "I—I just…saw something that I was not expecting that's all," she breathed. "But it's nothing you need to worry about, my friend. Rest assured, you will find love and happiness in your life, that is all that matters." As Esmeralda turned away, shivering, Quasi mulled over her words in the recesses of his mind, thinking.

Yet again, the cathedral's bell ringer had found himself in a position where somebody had tried to comfort him and bring him solace, but instead, it only succeeded in bringing him more confusion and a great uneasiness that filled his broad chest.

Finally, Quasi emanated a tense exhale through his nose and turned to face her, knowing the longer the two of them dwelled out here on the balcony in the frigid cold, not only was he increasing his risk of allowing Esmeralda to get sick, but it was also going to become harder to let her go, to say goodbye.

"We need to leave," he said, hardening his voice and swallowing down past the lump in his throat. Almost sanguinely, he lifted his head and dared to meet the Romani's piercing gaze.

The sudden shift in the young woman's countenance unnerved him, and he was not sure whether he bought into her telling of his fortunate or not, but he knew that he'd miss her.

It was time. The time Quasimodo knew would come sooner or later but still, he dreaded it. He had to say goodbye to perhaps one of three women in this world that seemed to care for him, the other two being Madellaine and Sister Alice downstairs. But how the bloody hell was he supposed to do it without feeling as though he were losing a part of himself?

When Quasi had felt as though the world were falling to pieces in front of him, Esmeralda and Madellaine's combined efforts had made him feel as though it wasn't so bad, really. He could not help but feel so isolated and companionless. Madellaine was gone, surely never to return after the horrific way today had ended, and now Esmeralda, to flee from his life too.

He had not even helped her escape yet and already; he possessed this awful feeling in his chest where it felt hollow. Empty, like a black hole, pitch black and barren, devoid. He knew himself to be lost, and the only way for him to be found again was if he had some reassurance that he'd see Esmeralda and Madellaine again, and without that, he knew not what to do.

Esmeralda must have sensed his distress, seen the distraught he carried within his pale blue eyes as he blinked and fought back tears, for she smiled and patted his arm gingerly.

"Aye, my friend, you worry too much. Don't worry about me. _Nothing's_ going to happen to me, Quasi. I've lived in the streets my whole life," she murmured in a rather soothing tone.

Quasi tried to return Esmeralda's gentle smile, and just barely managed to succeed, feeling as though his face cracked just from the sheer amount of willpower it took him to do so.

The bell ringer reached for her hand that currently rested on his shoulder and led her towards the edge of the balcony.

"Come. We cannot delay it. The morrow approaches and you need to get home before day breaks," he urged, knowing the longer they lingered, the closer a new day approached, and Esmeralda needed adequate time to slip away undetected under the cover of darkness away from Master Frollo's hired soldiers.

Esmeralda nodded silently in agreement at his words and allowed herself to be hoisted over his shoulder and she stifled a tiny squeak of fear and squeezed her eyes shut. "You've done this before?" she breathed, trying her hardest not to look down.

"No," he answered simply, and before he jumped, Quasi swiveled his head to the right and locked eyes with the girl one last time. If this was to be the last time that he would look upon her face, her beauty, then the man knew he wanted to make it count. To memorize every minute detail of Esmeralda's face.

Quasi did not know why he lingered like this, perhaps it was just a moment more of allowing him to be close in a woman's presence that did not fear him based on his looks.

He did not know why, nor did he particularly care, and yet, to let Esmeralda go was cutting him, wounding him better than any knife or firm backhand of Master Frollo's could ever do.

But he had to do this. For Esmeralda. His new friend. He had to let her go. She could not stay here, and what was more besides, she did not love him, did not care for him. Not in the way that he had secretly hoped. Esmeralda needed to be free.

It was this thought that finally propelled him to make the jump, ignoring the sensation of Esmeralda's hands wrapping around the column of his throat in utter terror, trying not to strangle the poor man as he began to scale the walls to freedom.

The bell ringer did not bother to look back over his shoulder before jumping, for if he would have, he would have seen a familiar blonde silhouette reach the balcony's ledge at the exact precise moment that he jumped off to escort Esmeralda to freedom, and Madellaine de Barreau had a look on her face that was not at all pleased to see the sight, but he did not know this.

Because he had not bothered to look back.


	21. Hello, Again

**Hi all and welcome back! I hope you're still enjoying it! This chapter is back to Quasi/Madellaine, and I think the next is another Quasi/Madellaine chapter, and then I finally break away from that for a chapter or two and focus on Esmeralda/Phoebus, which I'm really looking forward to. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: Hello, Again**

* * *

**QUASI** for the second time in one day, found himself scaling the walls of Notre Dame de Paris, admittedly this time, for a much more serious purpose, one that filled his heart with an icy dread.

The rush of Esmeralda clinging onto his neck as tightly as she dared without managing to strangle him sent a spiral of warmth throughout his chest, despite the emotional blow she had just dealt his already wounded heart by confessing her attraction to that stupid soldier who, if he dared to show his face in his tower again, he would not be so kind as to let the blond-haired man leave without a scratch.

He had been slow and cautious during his descent down the cathedral's cold stone walls, not wanting to frighten Esmeralda.

His movements were even and calculative, considering this was the first time he had admittedly done this with another person, let alone a woman. The bell ringer stifled a growl in his throat, thinking himself unable to shake the feeling of dread from wafting over his entire body that rocked him to his very core.

As much as it wounded him, he did not want to let Esmeralda go. His mind was screaming at him to say something—anything—to his new friend, though when his lips parted open to speaking, it was as though his mouth refused to speak, his tongue refusing their release, and a lump steadily grew in his hollowed, dry throat.

Esmeralda bit her bottom lip. The only consolation he could assuage himself by doing this for the young girl was that, at the very least, she too seemed to be experiencing difficulty in expressing what was on her mind. It almost sent her mind insane.

Her thoughts were scattered, intertwined with each other, but never joining, at least not to form a cohesive thought to speak.

When at last, they reached the bottom, he let his arms fall limply to his sides as he felt the weight of the girl vanish from him the moment Esmeralda hopped off his back and to the ground.

"Hurry. You must go," he managed to whisper frantically, reaching out a gloved hand and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Esmeralda nodded, still biting down on her bottom lip, swiveling her head in the direction of the northeast, where a distant guard had barked an indiscernible order. This was it.

Though she made no immediate move to flee into the darkness of a nearby side alley, which Quasimodo found peculiar. A strange, blazing look flashed through her bewitching eyes of green, and Quasi had no time to imagine what she would say. But it was not what she said that stunned him, but what she did.

Without any semblance of warning on Esmeralda's part, she flung forward and Quasi stiffened instinctively at the closeness as her soft, pink, luscious lips pressed against the skin of his cheek.

All it left was a little wet mark, a shallow pool of saliva on his cheek. But when Esmeralda planted the kiss there, Quasi felt warmth spread through his wretched limbs and his mind felt a pleasant buzz, as though he'd indulged in too much red wine.

Every good thing seemed possible, likely, even. As the soft skin of her mouth left the side of Quasi's face, the exact spot where Esmeralda's lips had come into contact burned and tingled like fire. A hot blazing fire pulsated through his entire body. A small grin crept onto his face and his cheeks painted themselves pink.

Esmeralda pulled away silently, but their eyes locked, having a private conversation of their own. "You sure you won't come?"

She tried again, one more time. And again, he denied.

"No." He patted the slab of stone behind him as if to emphasize his point. "This is where I belong, Esmeralda. Be safe."

Esmeralda nodded, a light breeze wafting her curls off her shoulders as she inclined her head. "And you, my friend. I promise to come back, Quasimodo. Trust me when I tell you this, yes?"

He returned the gesture and watched with a pang in his chest and a hardened lump in his throat as he nodded, and Esmeralda, seemingly satisfied with his response, smiled and turned on the heel of her boot and bounded forward into a darkened alleyway.

And now, as she disappeared from his line of sight, that girl, that angel, that unfailingly kind woman, he felt so…isolated.

He needed her, because, without her, he felt like nothing. He had this wretched feeling in his chest where it just felt empty.

Like nothing, pitch black, barren, and utterly hollow. He was lost and the only way for him to be found again was to see her.

But he had to trust her word, that she would come back. That was good enough for him, he supposed, and it was this thought that caused Quasi to propel him back up the side of the wall and towards his precious safe haven, these walls of stone.

His sanctuary.

* * *

Madellaine huffed in exasperation, cursing herself for not being quicker on her feet, otherwise, she might have been able to stop the man and say her goodbyes to La Esmeralda. She'd shot out her arm with the intent on grabbing Quasi's arm by the sleeve of his tunic and had been a fraction of a second too late and had bloody missed.

" _Damn_ ," she swore through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut and mumbled a half-hearted prayer of forgiveness to God and His angels for swearing on Holy Ground, though it gave her pause if it still counted, considering she was technically top of the church and outside it, not within it, but she supposed that it didn't matter.

The young blonde stomped her foot, a temporary release of frustration, and stifled her urge to throw her head back and scream. Were but she a little bit faster, she'd have caught the pair before Quasi had seemingly plummeted to his death below!

Aye, but Captain Phoebus was going to bloody _murder_ her once she told him the truth, that _yes_ , Esmeralda _had_ been here, and now she…bloody _wasn't_. Madellaine groaned and rolled her eyes to herself, restlessly pacing before she felt her knees go weak. " _Now_ what do I do?" she mumbled under her breath.

_Wait for him to come back, silly_ , her conscience piped up from the darkest corners of her mind. Madellaine let out a sigh and angrily waved the voices in her head away with a curt brush of her hand and slumped to the floor of the balcony's terrace, using the cold stone slabs of the wall as support for her back.

Exhaling shakily, she knitted her fingers together and tried to calm her breathing to something that resembled normal oxygen flow, as it felt as though her lungs were starved for air.

The air around the young blonde former hearth keep of Judge Frollo's was chilled as the bitter January breeze softly wafted through the air and into the kind man's bell tower loft.

Madellaine pulled her knees in close to her chest and rested her chin on top of her kneecaps, though she pulled away when she noticed three stone statues, gargoyles by the looks of these monsters, these demons, staring at her. Though they were lifeless and made of nothing but granite and stone, these creatures unnerved her, sending a tremor of fear down her back.

The blonde pulled a face and scrunched up her nose in an adorable little way and stuck out her tongue at the creatures, thinking these silent guardians of stone could only instill fear within her if she let it, and she was not about to bloody let them.

Her breaths escaped her lips as puffs of cold vapor in front of her, and she wanted nothing more than a cloak and a cup of hot soup to warm her body and escape this frigid cold, but she was adamant about waiting to see if Quasimodo would come back.

Madellaine's mind felt like it was reeling. The man had scaled the cathedral walls as though it were second nature to him by this point. His speed and agility were utterly _astounding_.

For all she knew of the man, which was admittedly very little, though now that she was due to claim sanctuary here, she hoped to know him better, his climbing was second nature at this point in his life, and if he had never been permitted leave of the cathedral, perhaps he had managed to get closer to the outside world by climbing, and that was as close as he could go.

She bit the wall of her cheek, furrowing her brows as her mind flitted dangerously to visions of how tenderly Quasi seemed to hold onto Esmeralda, as though she were made of the finest china, and the slightest mishandling would break the girl.

A hot fire seed of anger and resentment began to well within the pit of her churning stomach, which she thought unfounded. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, thinking she had _no_ reason to be jealous of Esmeralda. Quasi was simply helping Esmeralda _escape_. The woman had no _choice_ but to hold on!

There could be nothing more and nothing less between the two of them…. right? Besides, she had _seen_ the way Esmeralda had looked at Phoebus, as though all of Paris had become devoid of other men save for the gilded golden-haired cathedral captain.

Madellaine bit the wall of her cheek and rested her head against the wall behind her, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to halt the abrupt bitterness seeping into her chest from the pit of her churning stomach with no success.

Esmeralda smiled like she was happy right down to her soul like there was no part of her within where sadness dwelled. She had no mannerisms that showed damage of any kind. The older woman was perfection right down to her micro-expressions. The men followed her with their eyes, she had seen it for herself when down in the nave.

The other parishioners who'd come to the church to pray had practically followed Esmeralda's backside with their eyes.

Hungry looks of lust on their faces. Madellaine thought she would be very tempted to sell her _soul_ just to be her for one day, to walk in those shoes instead of her own, she who wasn't pretty. If that was jealousy and envy, two sins, she did not care.

Quasi had held Esmeralda with such tenderness, much like a _lover_ would have. And, but oh, God, she could only smell poison in the air that she breathed as she thought of them both. How fair was it to be born so ordinary and then judged for wanting more? Madellaine's eyes flung wide open as she realized what was happening to her.

" _No_ , stop thinking this way about her, this—this isn't _right_ , and you bloody _know_ it," she growled through gritted teeth, turning her head sanguinely to the left and regarding the three grotesque statues in front of her, these creatures of stone who remained quite lifeless and yet she sensed…something.

As if…they _listened_. It was nonsensical.

Her chest hollowed like a dry brook devoid of water and her tongue swelled as a gruesome chill of anger swept through her. Madellaine recollected catching one last look at the man before he'd leaped over the edge of the balcony, Esmeralda in tow.

Stubble sprinkled above his lips and chin, making him look as if he'd aged two summers in just the span of a single day, though she pondered if the traumatic events of the FOF had something to do with that. She noticed the dark shades under the rims of his eyes, and his cheekbones surfaced beneath slender, lean jaws. Madellaine had almost been able to smell the anxiety hormones the man was giving off at holding a woman in his arms in such an intimate manner that perfumed his body, and she was surprised to feel her body give a painful spasm to comfort the distress her new friend Quasi was almost radiating.

Notre Dame's bell ringer's eyes had been cemented on Esmeralda's like she was the only existent being in all of Paris. Never mind that Madellaine had ventured up here to check on the man and to visit with him again, to tell him that she had been left with no other alternative but to claim sanctuary from…

" _Frollo_ ," she whispered angrily, hissing that snake's name through clenched teeth as the girl felt her jaw lock tight in anger.

The young blonde furrowed her delicately shaped brows into a frown and let out a tired sigh and reached out a slightly shaking hand and rapped her knuckles on the horns of the tallest one's head. "I don't suppose _you_ three could tell me when he'll be back?" she grumbled darkly to herself under her breath.

Silence. Neither stone statue responded, and she frowned.

"Humph, I really _am_ a stupid girl. Gargoyles don't _talk_ , Lena, you're losing it," she snorted to herself, and this time, she really _did_ roll her eyes as she folded her arms across her chest, shivering against the cold, but she vowed not to move from this spot until she saw that familiar shock of red hair come up over the balustrade and Madellaine knew that Quasimodo was safe.

"That's the first sign of madness, you know, talking to yourself, dear. Don't worry, _I_ wouldn't want to be up here at night, either," a male's baritone voice with a slightly teasing lilt to it coming from her immediate left answered her, immediately eliciting a startled high-pitched scream from the young blonde, who was sure the noise had caused a few pigeons nearby that had been roosting to squawk their displeasure and take flight, Madellaine leaped to her feet at the interruption, gasping, a hand over her heart.

Her lips parted open to speak as she lifted her chin, blearily trying to focus her gaze more than a few feet in front of herself as the girl worked on overdrive to quell the racing thrums of her heart. She let out a gasp as she looked at the sentimental, smiling face of Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers himself.

"You would _truly_ allow me to leave you here alone without saying goodbye?" Captain Phoebus teased, smiling at her. Madellaine shot the golden-haired soldier a withering look, though she couldn't help the small smile that twitched at the corners of her lips as she shot out an arm, her hand against the stone wall to brace herself, and as she jutted her chin out slightly defiantly and stood up straighter to her full height, not that it amounted to much as Phoebus was admittedly much taller than she was, she could tell the blond-haired captain was dreading their farewell for now just as much as Madellaine was.

"Of course not," she answered warmly, grabbing the skirts of her simple green dress, and sinking into a low curtsy for him.

He inclined his head as a show of respect for the gesture and the two stood in silence for a few moments more until Captain Phoebus was the first to break the silence. "Where…?" But his voice trailed off and he did not complete his thought as he looked towards the young blonde for confirmation.

"Down," was all Madellaine answered as she walked to the railing and extended her arm down over the balcony balustrade.

"Come again?" Captain Phoebus phrased his question and blinked owlishly at the young blonde as though he'd misheard, which earned him a smirk and an eye-roll from the girl in return.

Madellaine made an odd little noise at the back of her throat that sounded like a cross between a snort and a giggle as again, she pointed, and Phoebus followed her movements.

The gilded golden-haired soldier moved to stand beside her, and Madellaine instinctively stiffened at such close contact, feeling her chest beginning to tighten of its own accord, wondering as to the nature of the sad, glassy expression of him.

"He helped her to _escape_ , monsieur. He saved her life, Captain, whether you like it or not," Madellaine whispered hoarsely, leaning over the balcony as much as she dared and having to squint through the darkness, seeing no sign of Quasi.

" _Damn_ ," Phoebus swore through gritted teeth, curling his gloved hand into a fist and slamming it down hard on the balustrade, not caring that it hurt as hell. "The boy deprived me of a dashing rescue, _that's_ what the hell he did. I must find her."

"You will," Madellaine comforted, what little solace she knew her words would bring, as she reached up a hand and gingerly rested her shoulder on his, having to stand on her tiptoes in order to do so. "Esmeralda's going to be _fine_ , Captain. She can take care of herself. You are a soldier, a tracker, yes? If anyone in this city has a fool's chance of finding her, it is _you_."

The blonde hoped her words would be a comfort, however small, but the man held a forlorn expression that was heart-wrenching to look at and almost too much for her to bear.

Phoebus shook his head. "Not soon enough, I'm afraid, my dear," he cursed. "I—I don't even know where she is, where to begin to look. She could be anywhere. Maybe…in a tavern…" Even as he spoke the words, he knew his words sounded foolish. He growled in frustration and shook his head to clear it.

"Perhaps," Madellaine agreed, looking nonplussed as she nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders and turned away from him, still craning over the balcony to spot any signs of Quasi.

Captain Phoebus shook his head in minor disbelief at the amount of hope that had seeped its way undetected into the young blonde's tones, thinking that the boy did not know how lucky he had it, to have a friend so loyal and devoted as her.

Madellaine de Barreau possessed a certain inner strength that was unlike anything he had ever seen in another woman before, though if he were being honest with himself, Esmeralda could give this girl a run for her money.

Phoebus offered the blonde an awkward little half-smile as his would-be-fiancée finally noticed she was being stared at, and Madellaine paused.

Her knuckles were white-boned as she gripped the edge of the railing as she leaned over to try to make out Quasimodo.

Confused, he watched in bemusement as the girl furrowed her thin blonde brows in quandary and pursed her lips at him.

"What?" Madellaine demanded hotly, a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks, painting them a pale rosy hue. " _What_? What is this, Captain? Why are you _staring_ at me?" The young hearth keep and servant huffed in annoyance and blew a stray strand of her hair that had gotten in her way.

"Because that boy does not know how lucky he has it, to have a…a friend like you," Phoebus began hesitantly. "And…this might be a bit forward of me, but…has anyone ever told you that you happen to have a lovely neck, Lena? It's very long, elongated, like a—a sexy _goose_. Don't bother trying to deny it. Can't put the truth back into the box," Captain Phoebus murmured thoughtfully, quietly.

Madellaine's lips parted open slightly in shock and her already pale face drained of all colors as the girl merely proceeded to raise her eyebrows in alarm at the captain's quip.

She struggled to form an apt response to his joke about her neck. Phoebus wasn't sure if he had taken his humor a step too far with the girl (it wouldn't be the first time this had happened), but the moment he heard the youthful blonde let out a tiny snort through her nose and watched as her shoulders started to shake, he felt the tension in his shoulders leave him instantly.

Phoebus allowed himself to relax. The captain smiled warmly at the young woman, feeling more than a little stupid for his 'goose' comment and off his game as he cautiously approached her, though before he could so much as take another step forward, the young blonde let out a stumbled squeak as she took a step backward, having to almost lift the skirts of her simple green dress to avoid tripping, and wound up doing just that anyways she tripped over the train of her dress and accidentally stepped on the golden-haired captain's left foot.

The soldier could already see the blonde beginning to lean precariously to the left and moved behind Madellaine to catch her fall, seeing her plummet straight to the stones below as her arms shot out in front of her to try to cushion the worst of her fall, causing Phoebus to hastily move to the side so that he would get the brunt of the impact and stop his already injured fiancée from slamming her entire body against the wall.

He winced as he swore he heard a muscle in her ankle twist and give way, and she'd have crumpled to the floor had he not caught her, though the unexpected force of her fall caused him too to lose his balance and he slammed against the stone wall of the balcony, all the while wrapping his arms around the petite little blonde hearth keep to avoid her bearing the brunt of the impact.

One had to excuse Captain Phoebus for his lack of grace and proper edict, considering he'd spent the last three years on the frontlines of war, he'd never had to catch a girl before, not like this anyway, so he got a pass for this instance.

"Ow, that _hurt_!" Madellaine squeaked, her eyes clenched tightly shut, her pretty face twisted into a rather pained-looking grimace as she rested her head against Phoebus's breastplate. "You are all right, Captain?" she breathed, craning her neck upwards to look the golden-haired captain in his kind eyes.

"I think I'm the one who should be asking you that. Are you all right, Madellaine? Is anything twisted? Broken, I—I thought I heard you twist your ankle just before I caught you," he muttered, not realizing that he might be crushing the poor lass with his body weight and realizing in his haste to keep the child from injuring herself any further than she already had, his right hand accidentally rested just above her right breast.

Not wanting to make this any more awkward and worse than it already was, the soldier quickly withdrew his hand as though the very gesture had burned the skin of his palm. He glanced down and groaned.

The two of them were a tangled mess of limbs. It hurt like hell and was sure it looked rather precarious and suggestive. God only knew what the creature would do to him if that boy got back up here just in time to see the two of them like _this_.

"I'm fine," Madellaine reassured Captain Phoebus quietly, opening her eyes and struggling to focus her hazy vision, currently clouded with black dots dancing, and swirling in her line of sight from when her head had collided against his armor. "But you _are_ kind of heavy and crushing me, Captain, so if you could let go of me, then I'll be better. And I'm so _sorry_ ," she sighed, her voice rising an octave the angrier she became. "I—I'm such a klutz, I'm always tripping over myself, Captain Phoebus! I'm just a stupid, _stupid_ girl with _stupid_ dreams who _never_ learns!" she growled, trying to wriggle her way out of his grasp.

Madellaine visibly winced as she watched her would-be-fiancé relinquish his grip on both her shoulders and take a step back, gingerly clutching at his shoulder and rubbed the area.

Though despite the dull, throbbing aching pain that surely must be sending swells of pain up and down the man's spine, Phoebus quickly put on a brave face and smiled at the nervous young blonde who had now taken several steps away from him. The last thing Phoebus wanted was for the girl to blame herself, thinking that this was her fault, or that he blamed her, which could not have been further from the truth, as it was.

And he said as much. "Don't say that. You aren't _stupid_ , Lena, far from it. It was an _accident_. A close one, yes, but an accident, nonetheless," he sighed, and before he could even think about getting another word in edgewise, Madellaine began to stammer and apologize repeatedly for her natural clumsiness.

Phoebus quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear anymore. "This isn't necessary, darling. It was an accident. Please don't feel like this was your fault because it bloody wasn't. What matters is that you are not hurt, I hope, and that you need—"

But a shuffling, scraping sound reached his eardrums and Phoebus's sentence was promptly cut off as a low growl came from behind, and he swiveled his head to see none other than the boy, Quasimodo, his slightly misshapen face pulled taut and tight with rage, his lips pursed into such a thin line, Phoebus thought they almost disappeared.

The younger man's brilliant sky-blue eyes narrowed until they were mere slits as he looked at Phoebus and Madellaine. And then his head slowly inclined as his head turned slightly to the right to regard the young blonde in silence. His eyes were laced to the brim with antagonizing hurt, his blue eyes darkening, flashing, boring into her soul.

Madellaine swallowed down nervously and took a cautious step forward, painfully twisting her fingers together, weaving her fingers in between her knuckles.

"Q—Quasi, it's—it's good to see you again," she managed to croak out hoarsely. "It's _not_ what it looks like, my friend, I—I fell, and the captain caught my fall."

She blinked in surprise, stunned at how hoarse and small and meek her voice sounded, furrowing her eyebrows together in a frown as she swore she heard Notre Dame's bell ringer growl. Madellaine internally screamed, knowing that by this point, it was fruitless to try to reach the man, for her words were as the wind. Though there was no denying what her new friend had stumbled across on his climb back up to his bell towers was a most peculiar scene indeed. It looked bad, and they bloody all knew it.

"Why is _he_ here?" Quasi snarled, looking to Madellaine. The edges of his lips curled upwards as his gaze flitted away from Madellaine's pink flushed face and towards Phoebus. "No soldiers. Sanctuary. _Get_. _Out_ ," the redhaired bell ringer growled in a voice that sounded hoarse, rough, and grating.

"N—no, Quasi, this—this isn't necessary," Madellaine started to plead with her new friend as Quasi leaped off the edge of the balustrade and closed off the gap of space between the two of them in two quick strides, his speed and agility utterly astounding, though she had seen that for herself when he'd jumped practically to his death off the railing with Esmeralda.

Though before Madellaine could intervene further, she had no chance to react as the bell ringer stood up straight to his full height, still towering over her at around maybe 5'8, she guessed.

But he was _not_ taller than Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, who, in his suit of armor, was around 6'2 or 6'3.

One of Quasi's strong arms shot out in front of her, effectively preventing Judge Frollo's former hearth keep from taking another step in between the pair of feuding men to intervene. Madellaine let out a tiny squeak as the bell ringer strode towards Captain Phoebus, who was promptly backing away from the younger, stronger man, having no doubt seen the look of shock and anger on Quasi's slightly withdrawn and sullen features.

Phoebus shot Madellaine a brief look, and upon seeing the young blonde woman shoot the captain a slightly pleading look as she bit her bottom lip, he shook his head curtly.

As if to say, " _Let me deal with Quasimodo_ ," and he winked at her. For whatever reason, one that was foreign to Madellaine, Phoebus did not seem intimidated by the younger man's growling and snarling as the boy rapidly advanced on the man.

Madellaine had to remind herself Phoebus was a veteran and seasoned soldier and was probably used to such tactics. Captain Phoebus did not seem put off or even remotely surprised by Quasimodo's sudden, almost violent behavior.

In fact, if Madellaine wasn't mistaken, as she watched with widened, almond-shaped, fearful blue eyes burning bright with anger at how Quasi was reacting towards the captain's presence in his bell towers, and fear of what was to happen to Phoebus, Phoebus almost looked as if he were… _enjoying_ all of this now.

Madellaine shot the golden-haired man a pleading look, biting down on her bottom lip so hard she swore she tasted blood as the younger, redhaired man rapidly advanced, causing the captain of the cathedral guard to retreat out of the tower and backward into the stone stairwell they had just ascended.

"Easy, my friend, I—I meant her no harm! I merely came here to see Esmeralda! Tell her for me I didn't mean to trap her here, but it was the only way that I could save that girl's life!"

"I am _no_ friend of yours! No soldiers, _your_ kind aren't allowed here! _Get. Out_ ," the bell ringer shouted hoarsely. "Do I need to say it a second time? I really _hate_ saying it again!"

Quasimodo had effectively succeeded in backing Captain Phoebus against the cold slab of the stone wall that was on the landing halfway up the stone stairwell, pausing to draw in a breath. His gloved hands had balled into fists, shaking at his sides. Madellaine trailed closely behind, tugging gingerly on the sleeve of the man's woolen thick green tunic, but Phoebus caught her gaze and fixed the young blonde with a pointed stare.

_No_ , he mouthed, his jaw locking tightly in anger, eyes flashing, as a muscle in his jaw twitched as Phoebus turned his attention to Quasimodo, who had let out another deep, rumbling, threatening growl from within his broad chest.

Madellaine let out a tiny whimper of fear and did not cease her efforts to try to pull the bell ringer off of the blond-haired soldier, and this time, Quasimodo did not bother to restrain himself. A cry of escape left his lips as the man curled his gloved hand into a fist, tight enough that his nails pierced the material of his thick leather hide gloves and he slammed his fist into the wall, just below Phoebus's right earlobe and would have almost broken the man's jaw had Phoebus not ducked his head at precisely the right moment.

The young blonde woman let out a yelp of surprise and jumped at the sudden violent reaction that was a severe contradiction to Quasi's gentle nature she had seen the man exhibit earlier when he'd shown her and Esmeralda his bells, though she didn't know what to say or do to quell his ire.

She lifted her head slightly to better look her new friend in the man's pale blue orbs, normally quite kind and friendly. Timid. Though right now, Quasi's eyes were anything _but_ kind. His open, wide eyes reflected everything in the stairwell, and yet saw nothing at all.

Behind the man's crystalline blue orbs as they darkened in color, almost a cerulean shade now, Madellaine swore she heard the low rumbling of a threatening growl emerge from deep within Notre Dame's bell ringer's chest.

There was something more intense than normal thought behind the young man's eyes, and his clenched, two-day jaw stubble was not at all a good sign, indeed. Madellaine had been hoping to get through her surprise visit to the man's towers without any kind of incident. Actually, the blonde wasn't entirely sure what she had been hoping for.

Definitely not for Phoebus to get caught up here, considering by the look of smoldering, fathomless rage in Quasimodo's blue eyes, burning bright with anger, it was no secret that the bell ringer hated the captain.

Why that was, Madellaine did not know, nor did she have time to question it. But now that Quasi had caught Phoebus up in the bell tower with her, who had come up here against his better judgment, and the bell ringer had caught the captain and hearth keep in an admittedly suggestive position to boot, the best that Madellaine could hope for from her new friend was not outright forgiveness, but the beginnings of a tentative understanding, a reconciliation between her and Quasimodo.

But right now, however, Madellaine simply hoped that poor Quasi would let Captain Phoebus go from this confrontation without giving Quasimodo a reason to hate her even more, but Madellaine knew that as she looked into her new friend's blue eyes burning bright with anger, those bewitching orbs of his holding total anger and betrayal, of her, it _hurt_ her.

The way the redhaired bell ringer's eyes squinted as Madellaine gingerly ducked underneath Quasi's outstretched arm and in between Quasimodo and Captain Phoebus in an attempt to tamper down the worst of the bell ringer's anger, and glowered at Quasi for the despicable way he was behaving towards Phoebus, it reminded the young blonde of snake eyes.

She gulped nervously. A burning, fiery animosity was developing in those blue eyes of his, and Madellaine could tell that she was likely the root cause of the young man's issues, of Quasi's unbridled rage towards her and Phoebus at what he had stumbled across just now, but he did not seem to comprehend!

That what had happened was an _accident_! If only she could make him see…And if, judging by the furious look in the man's eyes, Madellaine was about to find herself and Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers in a serious spot of trouble that she wasn't quite sure she would be able to talk her way out of, at least this time.

Very. Deep. Trouble.


	22. To Forgive Him

**Hi all, and welcome back! Not much to say in this chapter. Another Quasi/Maddie chapter and then I switch things up and do Phoebus/Esmeralda next chapter and 'Hellfire' is coming up really soon, so I'm looking forward to that.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: To Forgive Him**

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**A** burning rage hit Quasi so hard he barely had time to react. He had not anticipated that coming back up to his tower after ensuring Esmeralda was safe would result in…this. While he was internally delighted to see Madellaine again and hoped that this time, she would stay a while longer, he did not appreciate this soldier wandering into _his_ tower, _his_ home, uninvited, unwanted.

Quasi growled in frustration and bared his teeth, thinking that never before in his life did another man's name sound like such a putrid curse. Notre Dame's bell ringer froze, not wanting to meet Master Frollo's hearth's keeps' terrified bright blue eyes.

He knew what he had almost stumbled across. This _honorable_ soldier had his own hand pinned against her shoulder.

This man had intentions towards his new friend. What else could it be? Quasi was quick to react and decide that he would protect Madellaine from further harm, just as she had done to him this afternoon by attempting to shield him from the crowd at the FOF.

Soldiers like this one were _always_ womanizers, and tonight, it would seem, was no different, but for reasons he could not explain, this wounded him more than anything he could think of.

What made this entire situation even _worse_ and more awkward, Quasi thought was how the gilded golden-haired captain's wretched name sounded on her lips. They were familiar.

 _How close_? He wondered, grinding his teeth in agitation, stifling another low rumbling growl in the confines of his chest.

So full of worry and anguish over this soldier's well-being. Madellaine had spoken the Captain's name with such worry and yet an insatiable curiosity as to what Quasi was going to do to him that Quasimodo could not help feeling his blood surge and ignite as a hot wildfire through his veins as he recollected the awkward position he had caught the soldier in, forcing himself on her, then.

He had been warned by Master Frollo to stay away from the temptations of women, 'seductresses' Master called them, and yet, when he was around Madellaine, he could sense no ill intents from her. No maliciousness, no tricks, or any kind of deception.

Quasi knew most handsome men like the one in front of him were dogs, oh _yes_ , but he'd not believed the captain of their own cathedral guard capable of such a despicable act of violence.

The redhaired bell ringer curled his gloved hand into a fist and seized a fistful of the man's blue cape to prevent himself from striking out at Captain de Chateaupers in a fit of pure, utter rage.

The question was, and one that Quasi could not answer given he had not been here to witness what had happened while he had been escorting Esmeralda down the side of the cathedral, was just how exactly familiar Madellaine de Barreau had become with Captain Phoebus, who was now guilty of trespassing in his home not once, but twice, and the man was _not_ welcome up here.

This golden-haired man with the statuesque build of a Roman or Greek god must have truly laid on the charm thick in order for Quasi to stumble upon _this_ out on the balcony's terrace.

Quasi would be lying to himself if he did not also admit that he had not liked the look of shock and concern on Madellaine's rapidly paling and clammy face as the young spritely blonde lass was the only barrier, a human shield of sorts, between himself and this stupid soldier.

Nor was the look that Captain Phoebus giving her particularly reassuring, and he let out an angered snarl as Captain Phoebus gingerly laid a hand on Madellaine's shoulder, a gesture meant to calm her down, though the blonde pointedly ignored it and instead fixated her attention on Quasi.

The bell ringer did not like the glances exchanged between the two. It sent a fiery warmth through the churning pit of his stomach and suddenly, he felt like he was going to be physically ill. He was pulled from his swirl of thoughts when she spoke up.

"Quasi, _please_ , you—you have to _trust_ me, my friend! As your friend, I'm asking you right now if you can trust me. There's—nothing happened. I _fell_ , and Captain Phoebus caught me," pleaded Madellaine, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout, but her voice sounded distant and muffled, as if underwater, and all Quasimodo could focus on was the horrible vision of his new friend, she who had been so kind to him, so close to the _Sun God_.

How his hand had hovered entirely too close to the young woman's right breast for his comfort, that the anger churning within him burned so bad, it felt like hellfire lacing through him.

All Quasi could feel at this moment was to truly despise the soldier's despicable behavior. "No soldiers," he repeated, whisper hissing his words through gritted teeth. "Sanctuary. Leave. _Now_."

His voice was surprisingly low as he had lowered his voice an octave so that Madellaine would not hear, and he stifled his growl of irritation as he gingerly clutched onto the girl's arm, and as gently as he possibly could, shoved her back onto the landing.

The last thing he wanted was for his friend to get injured, but the moment that Madellaine let out a muffled whine of pain and seeing Phoebus practically launch himself forward to attend to the girl was just enough to cause for Quasimodo to decide to act.

Quasi gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Soldier of their cathedral guard or not, what the golden-haired captain had just attempted to do to his friend could not be allowed to go unpunished, church or not. He forced himself to let go of his reserved, quiet, and polite nature, and his timidness. These behaviors would no longer help him here. _This_? This was _war_ now.

The redhaired bell ringer launched himself at Captain Phoebus and sent the man careening backward down the stairwell, closing off the gap of space between them as a cry of rage left his lips and he seized onto fistfuls of the man's blue cloak.

This had gone on bloody far enough. Madellaine was his friend. Not the captain's friend. _His_.

And as her friend, he knew it was his sworn duty, both to her, and to any family she might have here in Paris, to protect her from harm, and 'harm' in this case, meant _him_. And now, considering Madellaine was here in his home, it was time to fulfill that unspoken promise between the two of them.

He would protect her. Just as she had protected him, not only from the FOF but also from Master Frollo's rage earlier on.

Quasi was intoxicated with a horrible rage, the acidity of all it residing in his stomach waiting to spat out of his mouth in vulgar and foul words that he knew Madellaine would stare at him for, and if Master Frollo were here, he'd have been beaten, surely.

Except he wasn't going to say them. Oh, no. He was going to shout them at Captain Phoebus with every ounce of breath that dwelled in his lungs, and then when that was done, he was going to insist the Archdeacon do something about this man, this _soldier_.

" _What. Are. You. Doing. Soldier_?" Quasi spat venomously, seizing a fistful of the man's blue cloak, and slamming the man harshly against the cobblestone wall of the stairwell of his loft. "She's _my_ friend, Captain, you bastard. _Not_ yours. What is this?"

As the insurmountable hot dragon-fire seed of anger coursed through his bloodstream, Quasi felt like he was no longer in control and as a result of this, didn't hear Madellaine's begging.

Madellaine had cried Phoebus's name with such concern and anguish for his well-being that it only succeeded in further igniting the flames that stroked the fire of rage in his broad chest.

This was enough to cause Quasi to curl his gloved hands tightly around the pale column of Captain Phoebus' throat and squeezed. His hand shook with the effort to control his utter rage.

He did not want to dispose of the soldier here in front of Madellaine like this, but he could not— _would_ not—allow any further harm to come to his friend. Not while she was on Holy Ground and within the walls of what was meant to be a safe space.

Quasi did not like to think that such behavior was possible of a soldier who had taken a vow of honor and chivalry, that the captain would have the audacity to lure the girl up to his tower and attempt to coerce the young maiden into… _that_. He hated this.

And to make matters worse, the way his new friend was looking at this golden-haired Sun God was confusing and sent a swell of panic throughout his scarred and wretched cursed body.

Quasi did not like the concerned tone in which Madellaine murmured the soldier's name, nor did he relish the look of shock and concern that was rendering her pretty elfin-like features even paler than usual, and the bell ringer could no longer ignore her pitiful tugging on the sleeve of his long-sleeved linen undershirt underneath his thick green woolen tunic as she tried to pry him off the captain and lead him back up into the man's tower loft.

" _What. Happened_? I want the _truth_ , soldier. _All_ of it. _Now_ ," he growled, visibly wincing as his words came out rough and coarse, and his voice sounded grating. He cursed himself as out of the corner of his one good eye he saw Madellaine shirk away.

Quasi cringed and bit the wall of his cheek as he heard the faltering crack and dip in his voice and seeing the girl back away.

No doubt she must have seen the shadow of the monster that he knew himself to be flit across his features, and it did not help that the north bell tower stairwell was shrouded in shadow.

He bit down on his bottom lip and whiplashed his head back around to the right, turning the worst of his wrath on him, fully intent on making the dishonorable soldier bear the worst of his temper. He did not want to yell at Madellaine.

It wasn't her fault that this had happened to her. He would not yell at her.

"Why were the two of you _alone_ up here? Don't _lie_ to me…" he warned threatening, baring his teeth, and growling at Phoebus.

Madellaine's soft voice spoke up faintly and sounded hoarser and timider than it had before, and Quasi could just barely make out what she was saying to him through his anger.

"Wh—what are you _doing_ , Quasi? Let go of Phoebus! He's—he's my friend! Don't hurt him! I told you the truth, Quasimodo! I fell. It was an _accident_. He—he caught me and saved me from the worst of my fall. Let go of him, you're _hurting_ him!" she protested, her pale blue orbs wide and round with fear as she tugged on his sleeve, desperately trying to pull the bell ringer off of the captain.

Quasi watched his new friend out of the corner of his one good eye, inwardly cringing at the young woman's lips as they parted open in shock and abject horror at the way he was behaving towards the blond-haired man.

And he especially did not like the way Madellaine's features paled and became clammy at seeing the unusual sight in front of her, with the bell ringer and captain of the guard literally at each other's throats and at odds with one another, at his furious state.

Quasi cringed, knowing how frightening this must look like to her, but he could not deny how he felt towards Phoebus. He was angry. In fact, he was on the verge of passing that point of no return and was completely furious.

But more than angry, however, Quasi felt emotionally hurt by the captain's _behavior_ , and his lip curled and pulled back as he thought of what he tried to do. He didn't know whether to scream and rage or curse Phoebus into oblivious for his heinous actions. All of the emotions welling up inside the confines of his chest were beginning to drive his mind utterly insane and savage.

"Please don't _do_ this, Quasi. Phoebus isn't at fault for this. _I_ am. Punish _me_ if you must, but let him go," Madellaine begged, stepping to the front, not once relinquishing her surprisingly strong and ironclad grip on his tunic sleeve.

It was just enough to momentarily break Quasi out of his raging stupor, and Quasi felt his face drain of color as he promptly looked Madellaine over once. He could see hints of purple and black bruises starting to form on her face, and what looked suspiciously like finger markings around the pale column of her throat.

"Did he hurt you?" Quasi growled angrily. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Madellaine rapidly shook her head no in a curt gesture, looking like she was blinking back briny tears and on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. "N—no, but…let him _go_ , Quasi! Can't you see you're _choking_ him?!"

Quasi blinked and turned back around to regard Phoebus, who was maintaining a stoic look of a perfect impassiveness, though his hands had come to claw pitifully around Quasi's hand currently holding his throat hostage.

Madellaine gingerly stepped in front of Phoebus by ducking under Quasi's outstretched arm and firmly planted herself as a barrier between the captain of the guard and him and regarded her new friend with a look of desperate pleading on her face.

"Phoebus is my _friend_ , Quasi. I—I swear there is nothing between us whatsoever. You've my _word_ on that," she promised solemnly, a muscle in her jaw twitching. "He's…proven himself to be quite kind, and a friend to me…"

 _Friend_. A _friend_?! Quasi felt like his mind was reeling as it throbbed and pounded relentlessly. Through his relentless, unceasing hurt and immense confusion ceased to exist the moment Phoebus dared to open his mouth to speak.

"Y—you won't _kill_ me, boy," Captain Phoebus whispered, his voice a mere hoarse, croak.

"H—he helped bring me here after Master Frollo released me from his servitude, Quasi," Madellaine confessed, and she felt the heat creep to her cheeks at a snail's pace as Quasi's gaze curiously followed hers. Madellaine bit her bottom lip and stuck it out in a slight pout, _really_ hoping her new friend wouldn't start asking specific questions of the incident with the Judge.

His temper was already a hair's trigger away from imploding, and Madellaine knew that if Quasi learned of her rather unorthodox and quite frankly, _stupid_ plan, that she'd tried to make Judge Frollo see reason, and as a result, had lost her temper with him, then he would surely never forgive her, nor would he trust her.

She wondered if he would even believe her when she told him the Judge himself, a man who was a father figure to the bell ringer, would believe her words to be fact that _he'd_ given her these bruises.

"If you needed help, then you should have come to _me_ ," Quasi snarled, his grip on Phoebus's throat only tightening. He stifled a low growl at the back of his throat. Seeing how pale Madellaine was becoming, and he recognized the growing look of anguish in her eyes, and how her grip had slackened slightly on his tunic sleeve, Quasi quickly came to the realization she was losing strength. "You need to _sit_ _down_ , Madellaine. You are tired. You need to _rest_."

" _No_." Madellaine's answer was only one word, but firm enough in her stance for Quasi to recognize that his new friend now had no choice but to claim sanctuary within these walls if Frollo had really dismissed her if she had nowhere to go, was not going to listen to him in the slightest. Her gaze shifted slightly as she turned at the waist to look at Phoebus.

Quasi bristled as he decided that he did not like the familiarity in which Madellaine was behaving around Phoebus, friend or not, and he especially could not explain away why the fact that his new friend's worried gaze settled over Phoebus's face, the column of his throat still held hostage by Quasi's strong hand, bothered him so badly that it burned like fire, and hurt like hell in his heart.

"What happened here, Madellaine? Did Phoebus hurt you?" Quasi growled. "Tell me the truth!"

Madellaine felt her eyes behind their lids become suddenly dry and a near fear threatened to engulf her completely. Something within Quasi had changed, and this was perhaps her third or fourth time seeing the man so changed, and not for the better, and she didn't like it at all.

His light blue eyes had shifted, darkened, and burned hot and steadfast with a wave of anger for the soldier that she had not thought possible in the man, though the more rational side of her at the moment chastised her at the back of her mind, remembering Frollo's visit to the tower.

Words left her. Madellaine blinked owlishly at her friend as she stared into Quasi's eyes burning with such a fit of anger and animosity towards her cousin, and her heart fell silent.

"Answer me!" Quasi demanded, finally losing his patience.

"I…" she stammered, and her voice trailed off as she looked into Quasi's eyes. But Madellaine couldn't force her lips to move.

She supposed she was struggling to form an apt response to his demand for an answer because she herself, in a way, was still much too shell-shocked to respond. Her mind felt blank as a piece of parchment paper and her eyes wide as she stared at Quasi in abject horror.

His eyes met hers as they desperately searched hers…waiting….

Quasi's gentleness in the current moment had completely vanished, his previous timidness and somewhat reserved and shy nature, whenever he was around her, was now practically non-existent.

He was… _furious_. Angry. At _her_. The wolfish-like growl he had released moments again from deep within his chest sent a wash of cold over her entire body and a tremor of fear down her spine.

Madellaine bit the inside wall of her cheek and nervously fidgeted with her fingers as she tried to think of something— _anything_ —to say or do to calm him.

Deep within the recesses of her heart, Madellaine knew that, just in her limited timespan of interacting with her new friend thus far, that Quasi would never hurt her or cause her intentional harm, but seeing him like this…

And even worse, behaving this way towards one of the church's own soldiers sworn by oath to protect their Lady of Peace? It was terrifying. Madellaine emanated a tense, shaking breath through her nose and closed her eyes.

 _Please don't do this, Quasi. Please don't_. She did not want Quasi to become even angrier on her account, for the poor man had done enough. More than enough. Madellaine could honestly say at this point into their new relationship that she preferred the softer, quieter side to Quasi and seeing him like this, with the shadow of the monster dancing across his lined but handsome face, and flickering's of pure anger throughout those light pale blue orbs of his, scared her.

More than anything. She had already lost one friend in her life, her sister, a long time ago, she would not lose this one to the darkness in his own heart, and right now, that seemed to be an ever-increasing probability of happening to Quasi if he could not calm down.

Madellaine was afraid the poor man would lose himself. Lose that part of his soul and heart that made Quasi who he was.

Though she knew him to be disfigured, he did not strike her as a particularly violent young man, no. Quasi did not seem like one who tended to live in anger, in fear, in rage. That was not him. Nope. Quasi was a _kind_ man, with a good, _good_ heart.

His heart was pure and golden, and the thought of that leaving him terrified her even more than what she thought her punishment would be. Quasi let out a growl and furrowed his brows in a frown as he bared his teeth as Phoebus was attempting to explain away the 'slip in his balance' moments ago.

"Kid, th—this is r—ridiculous," he coughed, still clawing at Quasi's fingers. "I know what it looks like, but I give you my _word_. I did not hurt your friend. Let. Me. _Go_ ," Phoebus growled in a bark, his normally kind hazel eyes flashing dangerously as they narrowed in rage.

Quasi glanced towards Madellaine, who was still tugging lightly on his arm, and he froze. If it was possible, she had paled even more, and her entire body was shaking badly, and some of his unbridled rages immediately dissipated.

Madellaine hastily took a half-step forward and planted her feet firmly on the hardwood floor beneath her boots, practically near tears. " _Please_ , Quasi. _Don't_." She was begging him now, but Phoebus had almost tried to—he had seen it with his own wretched sight. He had walked in and found him _on_ _top_ of her!

Phoebus couldn't be allowed to— but then his steady stream of dark thoughts swirling around like a vicious whirlpool in his tired head was immediately interrupted by a violent spell of shaking coughing from Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers.

Quasi blinked rapidly and snarled like a vicious dog who'd had his prized bone taken from him as he swiveled his head back around so fast to regard Phoebus, that the golden-haired soldier boy had to move his head back to avoid connecting with Quasi's.

"Y—you would… _kill_ me…Quasi? Th—this isn't _you_ , boy. Stop this, think about what you're doing. You—you don't…" Phoebus managed to choke out, sounding more amused than anything else, and he opened his mouth further to speak, but whatever he'd been about to say was interrupted by another fit.

Quasi instinctively loosened his hold, not enough to free the man, but it was enough that it wouldn't crush Phoebus, where he had him pinned against the wall practically dead to rights, though the way Madellaine was currently eyeing the soldier had him strongly reconsidering this desire.

What did Phoebus want with _his_ friend?

"I don't _what_?" Quasi growled through clenched teeth and locked jaw, and, using less than a fraction of his sometimes overwhelming strength whenever he would let the monster within out, that he desperately worked so hard over the years to quell within himself, as he felt the demon now currently tug and strain against its chains, snarling and howling.

Quasi was _not_ in a patient mood, having returned from seeing Esmeralda to safety, and for reasons unknown, the entire way back up the cathedral walls, instead of thinking of Esmeralda, he had thought of Madellaine, he'd been plagued with the thought that Madellaine was somehow in trouble, if not wallowing in some sort of misplacing self-pity, feeling as though she were somehow useless given the extent of her injuries, which could not have been further from the truth, and then he'd walked in on _that_.

 _Oh, he 'took care' of her all right_ , that snakelike demonic voice whisper hissed into the shell of his ear, that sounded entirely too much like Master Frollo for Quasi's comfort. He'd come back to find her _not_ in her place where he'd left her, the sofa vacant, empty, and no sign of where she could have gone off to.

Quasi growled as the unpleasant visual refused to part from his dark swirling vortex of thoughts that involved Phoebus hurting greatly. Even… _dying_. Quasi let out a guttural snarl from the back of his throat as he allowed the monster a little freer reign as he felt one of the links of the chains snap.

Madellaine blinked in surprise and glanced towards Phoebus, whose face was paling rapidly, and her friend didn't seem able to breathe. " **NO**!" she screamed and bit the wall of her cheek. "Don't _do_ this!"

Quasi could hear a faint voice calling to him, pleading with him to stay this madness before he made the biggest mistake of his life.

A faint, quiet voice. However, his thoughts and emotions were warring violently within his mind and his mind had become so polluted and diluted with rage that he could not discern exactly who the mysterious female's voice belonged to.

His anger towards Phoebus escalated to an entirely new plane of existence, and all his mind could dwell on was what he had almost walked in on, what Phoebus had almost _done_ …

Could his new friend really, truly not be allowed to be left unattended for more than an hour on her own. Apparently not. There really was no such thing as a safe sanctuary any more.

The only thing he was left with was his rage towards Phoebus.

Quasi let out a growl and moved in closer, but before his ironclad grip could tighten around Phoebus's throat and end this damned conflict of theirs, Quasi felt something soft collide against his chest, and a pair of slender, slightly weak arms wrapping themselves around his middle, and whoever it was, was practically grunting with the effort as they slowly but surely propelled him backward, trying to pry him away from Phoebus.

And a voice, its soft susurration's wafting to his eardrums. A voice calling his name. No, not calling out to him. Begging him.

 _Her_ voice. Madellaine was pleading with him, her tone soft and frantic. "Please don't _do_ this, Quasi! _Let_ _go_ of Phoebus right now. Please, _please_ , put him down!"

The voice's resolution was growing slightly firmer, stronger now, and somehow, albeit miraculously, through the dense fog of his blinding rage and inner turmoil that was waging war on the already troubled confines of his mind, Quasi recognized the sweet sound of his lovely new friend's voice, and a vision of her lovely face darted through his mind.

The blonde-haired woman's smile was one of happiness growing, like whenever a flower was in full bloom. Quasi could see how it came from deep inside to light the girl's pale blue eyes and spread into every fiber, every part of her.

A person smiles with more than just their mouth, and Quasi could hear it in Madellaine's words, in the choice of her words, and the way she relaxed with him.

It was… _beautiful_. Startled by this, Quasi blinked and was immediately shoved back into the harsh reality of his situation. Immediately, as if by witch's curse, whatever spell he had been temporarily placed under fled him, and Madellaine's image was all that remained.

And yet, for all his efforts, he couldn't rid himself of the young woman's sweet voice, and he found himself not wishing to, either.

" _Please_ , Quasi." Her voice had become a whispered plea, and hopeless, listless as if all the energy had been sapped from her. "Let go of Phoebus right now before you hurt him. Free him!"

Dazed and not fully coherent, Quasi felt his hand not curling into a fist slacken and he relinquished his hand's hold on Phoebus's throat.

"Get out of here," he growled, no semblance of warmth in his harsh and grating tone. "Don't' make me say it again," he snarled, turning his back away from Phoebus and storming up the stairwell before the captain could speak.

Exhaling a slightly shaking sigh of relief, Madellaine breathed in slow. In and out. In and out. Repeat a few more times and she felt her heartbeat come down off its high. It didn't feel like she was going to pass out anymore, so that was good.

It was evident by the look in Quasi's eyes that he needed her support. Quasi bit down hard on his tongue as his jaw clenched and his teeth dug on the wall of his mouth again. He let out a quick and dense breath aggravated with tension still, as his mind was no doubt plagued with visions of her and Phoebus.

He had—oh, _God_ , he had almost _injured_ a soldier of the church, and for what? Because he had caught the two of them in a seemingly compromising position? Quasi felt like he didn't have time to linger on the strange, foreign feeling of possessiveness that he felt whenever Madellaine was around other men, for _she_ was the one suffering.

He visibly winced at seeing the hallowing in the woman's face. The darkening circles underneath both eyes.

Cold sweat was forming on her browbone, glistening on her gaunt features. Her eyes sunken in and slightly sallow skin, Madellaine was not looking good at all, and Quasi's guilt intensified, knowing the stress her body was undergoing, was direct causation of his actions towards Phoebus a few moments ago.

 _All your fault_ , the snakelike voice hissed into the shell of his ear, whispering it over and over again.

She'd no doubt did not have a decent night's sleep in who knows when, and Quasi's guilt sat heavily on his shoulders, and he knew that he could not un-do tonight what had been done.

The best that Quasi could hope for was that Phoebus would forgive him.

Quasi growled in irritation and shoved aside thoughts of Captain Phoebus for now. Madellaine was the one who needed him to be strong, for she was experiencing pain, and all he wanted to do was shove aside thoughts of Phoebus for now and think of how to keep his partner from hurting even more.

Though he didn't know-how. He watched in silence, too stunned for words as Madellaine walked towards him.

Maybe there was nothing there, and he would completely understand her reasoning if she no longer desired him as her friend after he'd behaved, but… And then he blinked as she held out her arms and did not hesitate to envelop him in her arms, taking him completely by surprise and catching him off-guard.

The hug was a simple-enough gesture—affection laced within, perhaps even the beginnings of a tentative understanding between the two of them, he knew. Though what Quasi did not know at the time, nor did Madellaine, was that it was the beginnings of something much stronger, as this was the solidifying moment that their bond became as hot as molten lava, hard and unbreakable as stone when Madellaine did not condemn or yell at him for his behavior.

The arms that held him about his middle were soft and yet strong. The feel of Madellaine's body and the heat she seemed to radiate, so close to his own, soothed Quasi all the more, more so than he had expected.

Automatically, Quasi felt his arms fold about her shoulders, and rested his chin on top of the young woman's blonde hair, allowing the scent of honeysuckle and pinewood and autumn to calm him. Gingerly, as if handling the most delicate of china, Quasi lifted his hand as it somehow found its way to the back of her hair and entangled his fingers in her thick yellow strands, allowing them to drift comfortingly through the rest of her short hair.

"Madellaine?" He winced at how uncertain and cracked her name sounded coming from him in his current emotional state of distress over her and Phoebus.

Quasi furrowed his brows into a slight frown as he promptly lowered his hand, and it came to rest at but not on her waist just in case she felt faint or sick.

But even more so than that, he was surprised at how both of her hands curled into tight fists over his arms, as though she were the one clinging to him as if she believed he would somehow vanish right before her very eyes right now.

"It's all right, Quasi. I—I don't blame you for what happened, but I—I need you to _trust_ _me_. I'm your _friend_ , Quasi. Nothing happened between Phoebus and me. I am telling you the truth. I fell. He caught me, and you walked in on it. That's all. Nothing more and nothing less." Madellaine's voice was hoarse, and it cracked and faltered when she said his name.

Disbelief and worry wrought within her tones, and yet, as she regarded her partner in silence, the faintest ghost of a smile crossed her beautiful features, and her bright sky-blue inquisitive eyes almost seemed to crinkle and brighten with pure light.

It felt as though several moments passed that felt like an eternity to him. Quasi was internally relieved that his new friend did not relinquish her grip on him, for he did not want to let this celestial creature within his grasp go. _Ever_.

The little world confined in the bell tower's mezzanine seemed to distort and melt away as Quasi lowered his chin slightly to meet Madellaine's gaze. In those silent seconds, an unspoken feeling passed between the two of them, a private moment.

What it _was_ , Quasi did not know, and he didn't even claim to understand it, but perhaps Sister Alice would know what it was later if he was of a sound mind to ask her later. He could not even remember what he had almost done. What had he almost done?

And then, as his gaze briefly drifted towards the now-closed door, he remembered, and it hit him like he'd been hit square in the chest with a spell. Quasi winced and cast a furtive, guilty look back towards Madellaine as his memory came back to him, and immediately wished that he had not looked.

The abject horror he had felt at hoping that Madellaine would show up in his bell tower, climbing over the balcony's balustrade and in and finding Phoebus in a compromising, suggestive position on top of Madellaine. And then _rage_.

Hot, fiery scalding rage hotter than any dragon flame as it burned through his veins, like nothing else he'd ever felt before. Not even the soldier up in his tower earlier with La Esmeralda had invoked this sense of _anger_. It seemed it had hurt worse when it was a man whom he considered above all else his last remaining friend.

To his utter horror, Quasi realized that he had welcomed this anger into his heart, and he felt that damned stubborn corded muscle within his chest practically drop into the pit of his churning stomach, and he tasted acidic bile.

What had he almost _done_?! He'd almost _killed_ Phoebus just now with his anger.

"Oh, _God_ …I—I almost killed that man, Madellaine. I—I can't…" He cried, turning away from Madellaine, and raking his fingers through his fiery red hair. "What have I done?!" he yelled, blinking back bitter tears.

"Shhh," Madellaine murmured lowly in what she hoped was a soothing and reassuring tone. Still, the young blonde-haired hearth keep did not relinquish her grip on his arm, and Quasi could feel the woman move and match his movements.

Her fingers tightened on the back of his tunic for support, her one good hand not bound in its sling drifted upwards and found its way to the back of his hair and she absently smoothed down a stray fly away, and Quasi could not repress the slight tremor that had nothing to do with the cool temperature of this room as it traveled down his back as she raked her fingers through his coarse red hair.

"It's all right, Quasi," she murmured. "Phoebus already forgives you. I saw it in his eyes. You—you didn't mean it. You—you were reacting out of anger for my well-being."

"Madellaine?" Quasi's quiet, reserved voice sounded much rougher and coarser than before, and more than a little slightly put off, Madellaine was inclined to believe, though she had no time to question it as she quickly turned her head.

She sniffed once and flicked back the one and only tear as it traveled down her cheek, for her friend did not need to see her cry yet again if she could help it.

"Yes?" Madellaine whispered, hating hearing how her voice lowered an octave.

"I…" Quasi's voice broke as it faltered and he hesitated in his resolve as if he did not know exactly how to phrase whatever it was that he wanted to say to her. "I…I am so _sorry_. I never meant to—for any of this to happen, I…."

Quasi's soft tones came out as broken and distraught, and his strong arms tightened around the young woman, and Madellaine let out a muffled squeak of surprise as suddenly, her head was nestled underneath his chin as he hugged her.

Madellaine furrowed her brows and resisted the urge to let out a groan of frustration. Again, he blamed himself and was now trying to apologize to her. _Again_. But _why_?! Why did everything within the last few hours suddenly revolve around hurt feelings, tears, and apologies? What on God's green earth could Quasi have done that warranted the amount of hurt and anguish that surged through his tones, for Madellaine knew he had done nothing wrong just now.

Madellaine emanated a tense exhale through her nose and albeit reluctantly pulled apart and stepped back slightly to study Quasi's pale, incredibly hurt face.

"I forgive you," she whispered, speaking the words she knew Quasi needed to hear. "I'm sorry too, my friend. Let's…let's just try to put it behind us. Perhaps we _both_ apologize for the way that we acted towards one another and move forward with our relationship?" Madellaine bit her bottom lip and stuck it out in a slight pout. "Since I guess the church is going to be my home now, don't you think we owe it to one another if we're going to see each other on a regular basis to try to get along, Quasi?" she asked, a note of hope in her voice as she pulled back slightly and still bit down on her bottom lip as she tried to gauge Quasimodo's reaction.

Quasi could feel his pale blue eyes widen in shock and awe and he could not help the shock that crept its way into his tone as his question passed his lips.

"Wh— _what_? Why are _you_ sorry? There's nothing to be sorry for." Now it was Madellaine's turn to look incredibly confused because her expression changed from one of morose to one of immense astonishment.

"Why? What do you mean, 'what for?'" she scowled, biting the wall of her cheek. "Because I should have stayed with you. I—I shouldn't have gone back to the Palace of Justice. If I hadn't, then maybe I would still have a home," Madellaine sighed sadly.

Here, Madellaine's voice trailed off and she looked away for a moment to compose herself. "That everything that's happened to me in the last few days happened so quickly…and...I really _do_ like you. I like you a lot, and I did not take your feelings into account, Quasi. I'm sorry."

Quasi nodded, though he was lost. He was the one who had not listened to her and had almost injured that soldier over a horrible misunderstanding.

Quasi could only watch as Madellaine gave a soft sigh of exasperation and carded her fingers through her pixie cut.

Quasi watched as his partner began to nervously fidget with her fingers. He had clearly noticed Madellaine's dilemma, for he spoke once again, but this time, his tone was more certain, and much clearer and more articulate than before.

"I—I would like that. To…to put the last few hours behind us, Madellaine."

Madellaine offered a curt nod, signaling that she understood and respected his needs. "I meant what I said," she began cautiously, untangling her fingers from her short hair and offering him a shy, small half-smile that made his heart flutter.

"That you and I both apologize for the way we acted and move _forward_? I—I want our friendship to get on the right foot with one another, you, and me. Could we try again, Quasi? We have to if this is going to work if the church is going to be my home. I—I'd like to see you, my friend, if you'll have me," she asked, unable to disguise the note of hope in her voice and she glanced down and realized he had offered her his arm to escort her out of the stairwell and leave Phoebus behind and back up to the tower loft.

"Try again?" Quasi repeated, as though he had misheard Madellaine's words, stepping forward gingerly as he reached up the hand not currently offering his partner support so swipe his red bangs off his forehead. "Even after... _that_ ," he said, a pained look in his eyes as his gaze flitted to Madellaine nervously. "You are still willing to forgive me because you want to..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away, biting his tongue. "Are you sure you want this? Can we start again? You and me? Can I get to know you?"

Madellaine playfully scrunched her nose at her new friend in jest and rolled her eyes as Quasi carefully opened the door to his tower. "Please _don't_ call me that," she sighed in exasperation. "If you _must_ call me by my first name, then please…call me Lena. Only if you want, Quasi," she groaned.

Quasi grinned, and it sent an unexpected spiral of warmth throughout her entire system, and Madellaine decided that she liked it, this heat emanating in her chest. "I think I like that better anyway. Very well. _Lena_."

She shivered at the way it sounded, though it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, though it did leave Madellaine feeling quite confused and warm. "Why on earth would you want to do that?" Madellaine asked as she allowed herself to be guided gingerly and slowly down into the man's bell tower loft.

Madellaine heard herself speak the words, and she believed she really did sound quite dim, and she bit the inside wall of her cheek, cursing herself for being so _stupid_. It had not been her intention at all to come across as rather dim-witted.

It was when Quasi allowed a light laugh to escape his lips and he squeezed her arm, and gave her a blindingly bright smile that Madellaine knew she was in serious, serious trouble…

That she was starting to fall for this man. And she did not know what to do about it.

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**Yayy glad they made amends, sort of! The next chapter is Phoebus/Esmeralda (yay) and then a Frollo chapter as things start to pick up the pace in terms of the plot! Stay tuned for more! :)**


	23. A Proposal by the River Seine

**Finally, a much-needed Phoebus/Esmeralda Chapter. I hope this is a good one as I've not written much for them before, but I liked to think in the movie (and musical) that they met up again at least once prior to the burning of the Miller's home/that brothels if we're going by the musical's plotline.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Three: A Proposal by the River Seine**

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**ESMERALDA** winced as eye to eye she found herself face-to-face with the man who had trapped her inside the stone-cold walls of Notre Dame de Paris, the gilded, golden-haired Sun God himself. He had promised that he would return for her, and he had _lied_. It had been Quasimodo who had freed her from her prison, _not_ him. Not Phoebus.

Her piercing eyes of green were laced to the brim with a certain sense of unease and distrust, whereas the captain's hazel eyes were hopeful. Though the longer Esmeralda glowered at the Captain of the Guard, finding it surprising it had taken him the better part of two weeks to track her whereabouts to the tavern that she was currently supping in.

His eyes slowly became bothered by the continuous draining of his strength as he heard Esmeralda huff in frustration and shoot him a pointed glower, before marching out of the crowded tavern and into the otherwise deserted streets of the Parisian marketplace, the cobblestones beneath her boots slick with fresh rainfall, and she swore under her breath.

She was all too aware of the captain of the cathedral guard following her as she meandered down the side always towards the Seine. No words escaped his throat, which Esmeralda found odd. By the time she reached the river's edge, as much as she wished for him to go away, she could ignore Captain Phoebus's presence behind her no longer.

Esmeralda bit the wall of her cheek and finally gathered the nerve to speak. "That was a pretty good act. You had me convinced that you were not at all like the other soldiers, _Sun God_ , but I can see now that I was mistaken in that regard, soldier boy," she murmured darkly under her breath, turning slightly at the waist to hold Phoebus's inquisitive glower. Her fingers itched to slap the man where he stood for what he'd done, trapping her within the stone walls and then vanishing with no word as to when he had intended to return for her. Phoebus had _lied_.

The young Romani dancer watched as the golden-haired soldier bit his bottom lip in hesitation, struggling to search for the right words.

"It was the _only_ way, Esmeralda," he murmured, and there was a hint of hardened steel in his voice that told her she must listen to him. But unbeknownst to the golden-haired Sun God, this captain, she too possessed a stubborn streak and was _not_ about to let him off easily.

"Oh, really? The _only_ way? You. Left. Me," Esmeralda growled, grinding her teeth in annoyance so hard she felt her molars click tightly.

Esmeralda silently seethed and bristled at the man's words, looking straight into the soldier boy's kindly hazel eyes, though right now, they were looking strangely apathetic and serious that she knew he held.

His hazel eyes were brimming, shimmering with unshed moisture that Esmeralda knew not to be tears, per se, but rather, arousal. Her green eyes made it a habit of staring right back, never once shirking away from the intimidating captain's towering stance, unwavering and unabashed, though she did jut out her chin, just slightly.

But Captain Phoebus was too cunning a man and soldier to hide his hidden desire from Esmeralda. She had felt his eyes following her backside in the tavern, could practically smell the want emanating off the golden-haired captain in waves, and she had not forgotten his little gift.

Almost instinctively, of its own volition, her left hand found its way to the chain about her neck, where she removed it and delicately fingered the yellow gold ring in the surface of her palm, feeling its weight.

It seemed to take the captain an eternity to find his voice again, and when Phoebus did, his voice sounded strangely rough and coarse, which though sounded odd, coming from him, gave Esmeralda a sense of peace. It gave the man a sense of vulnerability, made him more trustworthy. Well, almost. There was still the matter of what he wanted.

"What were you _thinking_?" he barked hoarsely, wildly gesticulating with his hands as Esmeralda moved to stand under a tree.

She did not need to ask what the man was elaborating towards. She knew. Awful things happened to women outside the given curfew if they were caught out on the streets alone without their husband or lover.

Esmeralda, on purpose, just to spite the captain, took her time to consider, leaning her back against the rough, gnarled bark of the tree. She saw Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers eye her simple figure in her long purple linen gown, a gift from old Gwendolyn upon her return.

"Time alone," she answered, with a slight sniff of disapproval.

"How enlightening," she heard Captain Phoebus snap bitterly. The tone of his voice caused Esmeralda to bristle where she leaned against the tree trunk, seeing him as a plain nuisance for lying to her.

"All right, soldier boy, spit it _out_. What do you want of me?" Esmeralda commanded calmly. "Have you come to gloat, to claim me?"

Now it was Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers who seemed at a loss for words as his slightly tanned and sun-kissed features paled, and his face drained of all colors, and he looked as though Esmeralda had hit him.

"What do I _want_ from you?" He looked aghast, offended by her question she had posed to him just now. "I _wanted_ to see you. I'd walk all of heaven and earth to see you. I _want_ you to be mine, Esmeralda. For you to be with no other man, for as long as we're together, whether that be five days or five hundred years. I want…" His voice trailed off. " _You_. _Just_ you," he added for emphasis, biting his lip, and falling silent, waiting.

Esmeralda harumphed, signaling with an eye roll and a haggard sigh that she was not at all impressed by his charming words and swoon-worthy bold swagger that usually worked on all other ladies, save for her.

She knew what it was that the captain wanted of her. Her gaze cast downwards towards the gold ring on its chain, still nestled in her palm.

"Here," she murmured, making a move to hand it back, though no one was more surprised than she when the captain took it, though instead of slipping it back around his neck like she half-expected him to, Phoebus, with one swift tug and a grunt that escaped his lips, removed the simple but elegant piece of gold jewelry from its chain and without so much as a word, slipped it onto her ring finger. Esmeralda blanched, staring at it.

"Keep it," he muttered quietly, his tone somber, no hint of joking in his voice. "T'is yours. It will always be yours, milady." It took no scholar in the vicinity to know that the captain of the guard was not referring to just the ring. He was implying that his heart was now solely Esmeralda's.

Esmeralda did not know what to say, instead favoring silence as the only apt response and glanced up at the captain, wriggling her brows.

She turned away, and Captain Phoebus felt his face fall, surely able to sense the loathing still that she harbored towards him for keeping her captive and 'tricking' the girl into claiming sanctuary to save her life.

But he could give her a good life, and so much more, if she would only accept his offer. Though a pause in response was nothing at all that he could have hoped for, and Esmeralda spoke the few words that dared to crush his heart where he stood right there on the spot by the Seine.

Esmeralda stared past Phoebus towards the still surface of the slightly murky River Seine.

"I _should_ hate you, Captain," she muttered dryly at last. Her eyes never left the glassy surface of the water ahead of her, and her cold, somewhat aloof tone conveyed none of the emotion she currently felt, still harboring anger and resentment towards his decision.

Captain Phoebus could not argue with her logic. "Yes, you should," he begrudgingly agreed in a gruff voice, lowering his gaze at last.

He had, after all, effectively played his hand at trapping her within the confines of Notre Dame de Paris, but it had been the only way to save her life, otherwise, there was every possibility she would be back at the Palace of Justice right now, rotting in a cell and awaiting execution, likely.

Phoebus did not know how long the pair of them stood in silence in this way, his heart shattering into a million untold fragments at the uncomfortable quiet that lingered underneath the old oak tree like this.

Her imprisonment was, after all, all _his_ fault. He was the one who had created that chasm and had trapped her within the massive church.

"I should swear that I will never see you again," Esmeralda continued in a clipped and curt tone, gazing straight ahead, still actively averting the golden-haired soldier's piercing gaze, now staring at her with such an intensity that he was practically burning a hole in the back of her skull. "I would be well within my rights to do so, soldier boy, considering."

Phoebus nodded mutely, though given Esmeralda had turned away, he knew that she could not see it. His heart was utterly breaking.

What was more to the point, besides, the soldier knew the dancer was bloody right. What else should he have expected? He'd trapped her.

Prevented her from going home to her family and friends, wherever 'home' happened to be for her here in the City of Lovers. The captain had no response prepared in advance, the only thing he was able to do was to stand patiently behind Esmeralda and wait for her to gather her thoughts, waiting in a pensive and grave manner for the woman to speak.

Esmeralda paused for a moment to draw in a frigid breath of cold night air and then forged ahead, finally glancing at Phoebus as he moved to stand beside her, regarding the captain out of the corner of her eyes.

"I should." She breathed out a shaking breath through her nose, that to Captain Phoebus, almost sounded like a defeated sigh, her eyelids fluttering closed for a moment as she moved to turn her head away. "But I _can't_ ," she whispered, her voice so faint, Phoebus wondered if he'd misheard her. The Sun God raised his thick brows and looked at the girl.

Surely, it was entirely too much and too selfish of him to hope that Esmeralda would accept into her life, her people, but here they stood.

Esmeralda continued speaking slowly and clearly, moving off her spot from the tree and began pacing near the edge of the River Seine's banks, her movement a vain effort to tamper down the salty, briny liquid that formed as tears behind her pale bewitching orbs of forest green.

"You left me alone in that cathedral without giving me any inkling of when you might return. I stood watching you escort Madellaine and the Judge out of those front doors, thinking I would _never_ see home again. I wanted nothing more than for the church's floor beneath my feet to open up and swallow me whole," she growled, bitterness in her tones.

"Esmeralda." Phoebus pleaded, wanting for nothing more than for Esmeralda to allow him to get a word in edgewise, for him to tell her the real reason that he'd held no other choice at the time but to trap her.

But the young Romani's green eyes narrowed, and she shot him a truly withering glower that had the girl the ability, would have surely turned him to stone, just as Medusa. "Please," she continued, biting down on her bottom lip as she rapidly blinked back those accursed tears of hers. "Let me _finish_ , Captain. I have something you need to hear, Ser Phoebus."

Esmeralda ducked her head, allowing an ebony curl to fall in front of her face and Captain de Chateaupers heard her sniff once or twice in defeat.

"I—I _tried_ ," Esmeralda spoke painfully, her breaths coming to her in gasps and promising the sobs that threatened to turn her low and husky voice to a mere whisper. "I tried to lock you away, Captain, to put the Sun God away in the back of my mind and go home," she growled. "To make you nothing more than a distant memory." It was here that Esmeralda lifted her shaking left hand to her eye level and studied the simple gold ring that Captain Phoebus had wordlessly slipped on her finger. "But I _couldn't_ ," she whispered, lifting her chin to gaze at Phoebus.

"I—I should have come back for you," Captain Phoebus lamented, his face becoming crestfallen as Esmeralda's face paled in anger and shock. "But I did not. Frollo did not give me an opportunity to return."

Esmeralda nodded. "You made your choice, Captain Phoebus. You are a knight. A soldier. And soldiers know everything about following orders, don't they? And then you were gone, and Quasi helped me flee."

Captain Phoebus ground his teeth together in a fit of nervous agitation, taking in several deep breaths and forcing himself to calm down. "Is that truly what you think, Esmeralda? That I would just abandon you and never return? Yes, I'm a knight, but more than that, a man of my word. I don't give a damn about the Judge's orders anymore. There was no choice to make, darling. I had no choice. It was the only way that I could save your life, but you have no intention of understanding it!"

His baritone voice became urgent, trying to get Esmeralda to see his side of the situation, how, at the time, there had been only one choice.

"I see." Esmeralda pursed her lips into a thin line and stuck out her bottom lip in a slight pout, misunderstanding Captain Phoebus's meaning. Had the soldier boy never truly intended to return to claim her?

Those words, those things he had said to her on Holy Ground, had they all just been words spoken out of a lustful moment? Was the 'Sun God' going to be just like all the other pigs of Paris, these stupid men?

"Is that supposed to make me feel better, Phoebus?" Esmeralda challenged the Sun God hotly. Phoebus was silent. "Why did you follow me? Why are you _here_? What do you _want_ with me? At least pay me the _courtesy_ of being honest. And that's an order!" Esmeralda growled.

She was not exactly shouting at Captain Phoebus, though her tone was displeased and the way her green eyes narrowed reminded the Sun God of a snake as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to find his words, racking his brain for something to say.

Words left him. Captain Phoebus stared into those bright forest green eyes burning bright with anger and a horrible, antagonized hurting.

His heart fell silent. "Answer me!" Esmeralda shouted, stomping her foot, a temporary release of frustration as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers, toying with the golden ring Phoebus had given her anxiously.

But Phoebus couldn't will his lips to move. As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as Esmeralda pointed a shaking finger right in his face, the pads of her index fingertip almost touching his nose.

"Do you truly have _nothing_ to say in your defense, knight? I poured my heart out to you, now tell me what the hell you're thinking!"

But Phoebus's mind, perhaps for the first time in his life, was blank, and he had been rendered speechless, his eyes wide as he stared at the woman, the thief of his heart who had stolen it from him before he'd even known it was gone himself. Esmeralda's eyes desperately searched his…waiting, searching for any semblance of the knight's true feelings.

He had to say something! Anything, something that would set Esmeralda's mind at ease and give the girl the reassurance she craved. Captain Phoebus ran his tongue along the top wall of his teeth for something reasonable to say, but to his surprise, his heart answered.

"I love you, Esmeralda," he said simply. "I'm here because I _love_ you," Phoebus murmured, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant way.

The gilded golden-haired captain of the cathedral guard had no other answer to give, other than the words he'd spoken from his heart. He could only hope that it would be enough, though judging by the way Esmeralda's eyes narrowed in suspicion, that it was not. Captain Phoebus stifled a weary groan of exasperation and felt his heart sink to the pit of his churning, swooping stomach, thinking this was a bad idea.

He should not have…he should not have followed her like this.

"You _love_ me?" Esmeralda shot back vehemently as she folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips in a thin left. "You **LEFT** me!"

The hurt brimming in her voice was almost too much for the captain to bear. Captain Phoebus had not wanted to distress Esmeralda with the unspoken horrors that haunted his mind at what tortures the Judge would have ordered Esmeralda to undergo, perhaps even sentenced to death by hanging on false charges of stealing, given what the girl was.

But he knew better than most what would have happened if he had allowed Esmeralda to follow him outside of those cathedral doors.

Seeing her now in front of him like this, desperately searching for the answers as to why it had taken him so damned long to find her again, he knew that he had to tell her the truth, or he would risk losing her.

And he was not so confident he'd be able to find Esmeralda for the third time. He held a sneaking suspicion that he'd only found her because there was a part of Esmeralda that wanted Phoebus to find her out here. His own temper surged as a wildfire in his veins, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Alright. Yes. I made the right choice," he shot back, thinking now it was she who needed to listen, and she'd better listen well if Esmeralda wanted to prove to Phoebus that she wasn't _stupid_ , then she wouldn't interrupt his piece. "I chose you, Esmeralda!" His words confused her, he could tell that much.

Esmeralda's lips parted open slightly in shock as she gawked at him, her brows furrowed together in a quandary as she grew more upset.

Phoebus drew in a breath and continued.

"I _chose_ that you should _live_ and remain untouched by whatever punishment Judge Frollo would see fit to inflict upon you for your 'crimes,'" he spat bitterly. "I made a choice by having you claim sanctuary in order to better keep you safe. If you would have followed me, if what you said of the Judge up in that boy's bell tower was true, he would found out about us, and something tells me by the way that he acted so violently towards you that he…lusts for you."

Esmeralda nodded mutely, confirming Phoebus's worst fears. His stomach twisted and turned as a coil in his gut lurched as he imagined what would have befallen the young Romani dancer at Frollo's hands. "I could not allow that to happen. So, I left you, yes, that much is true. But that was not my intention to let so much time pass without seeing you again. I—I tried to find you. I looked everywhere in this damned city…"

He let out a shuddering breath as a cold chill that had nothing to do with the frigid night temperatures of the January air wafted down his spine as he looked deep into Esmeralda's piercing eyes of green at last.

Her face grew pained as she listened intently to Phoebus's explanation, and he took to heart the young woman was still letting him speak his piece without interrupting, and as a consequence, bared his soul. "You _do_ understand what the Judge would do to you if you allowed yourself to be escorted back to the Palace of Justice as his prisoner? I _saw_ the way that man looked at you in the main sanctuary of Notre Dame. He would have…he'd have made you…"

But Phoebus heard the faltering crack and dip in his tone as it faltered, as did his resolve, and the captain of the cathedral guard could no longer contain the bitter and angry tears from flowing as he moved to stand beside Esmeralda and place a shaking hand on her right shoulder.

"He would have assaulted you, or _worse_. Forced you into a life of servitude as his muse. Maybe even his wife." His voice was nearly a hushed whisper by this point, describing the grotesque and unthinkable.

Tears were now running down Esmeralda's cheeks in graceful tracts as she cried silently, swallowing down past a lump in her throat.

Her breaths caught in her throat at the severity and harsh truth of Captain Phoebus's words, and it was in that moment that she decided to trust and forgive him. Though she knew little of Judge Frollo, she knew that without a shadow of a doubt in her mind that this soldier boy did.

He was, after all, under Judge Claude Frollo's employment.

"That is your answer as to your 'why.' I had to leave you," Phoebus insisted, whisper hissing his words through gritted teeth through clenched eyes. "To protect you, and I would do it all over again for you, Esmeralda, if it meant that I could keep you safe and one day, marry you."

Phoebus heard Esmeralda gasp at the last part of his statement as he drew closer towards Esmeralda, closing off the gap of space between them. He peered at Esmeralda through tear-filled eyes, feeling physically and emotionally drained from practically begging the woman, short of groveling on his hands and knees in front of her, though he would if that was what it took to get the woman to accept his proposal of marriage.

He was speaking so earnestly that Esmeralda had to look away.

"Leaving you, Esmeralda, that night, believe what you will, but it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my entire life. Worse even than all of the people I've killed, the lives I've taken during battle."

He paused, shattered, and broken, but still feeling, nonetheless. "It was one of the greatest mistakes of my life," Phoebus lamented. "I should have stayed with you, come back for you sooner, and fled with you. I should have told you sooner that I love you, Esmeralda. I am sorry."

It did not escape either of their attentions that the golden-haired captain's words were tinged with hatred at the Judge, that demon who had such a stronghold over his entire career, to say nothing of his life, and may have still cost him Esmeralda, and still might before this was ended.

"I promise that I will guard you with my life," he said in hindsight. He shook his head to clear his mind of visions of Judge Frollo's rancor, what he would do if and when he found out about Esmeralda's escape. Surely, he would punish the boy who had helped her to flee, then?

The Captain cringed, not wanting to think of it and shoved aside thoughts of the creature up in the bell towers for now. That boy did not concern him. Right now, what did concern him, was the woman standing right in front of him, and Esmeralda _still_ had not given him her answer.

Phoebus, before he could stop himself, moved his face closer towards Esmeralda's lips, wanting to taste her, to feel how her lips would move in sync with his in a kiss. "We can be together, Esmeralda. It will not be easy, but there's no one I'd rather take that chance with. If you will have me," he begged, not even caring that he sounded desperate by now.

Esmeralda drew in a deep breath and looked at the Sun God softly, quirking a slightly suspicious brow in the captain's direction.

"You did not have to help me back at the cathedral, Captain Phoebus. You would have been well within your rights to have forgotten me, but you risked your career, you risk Frollo finding out that I… _escaped_ ," she acknowledged, sounding impressed, and dare Phoebus even think this next part, perhaps amazed at the man's selflessness, that he would put his own life and career on the line to save a woman that he barely knew.

He seemed so _different_ from the other soldiers that she had encountered during her time here in Paris, she could not quite fathom it. Though she instantly chastised herself that she could think of the golden-haired captain of the cathedral guard as anything less than honorable. She supposed his intentions towards helping her proved that.

Esmeralda hesitated, biting her bottom lip. "You say that you love me?" she questioned the captain, already sure of Phoebus's answer.

"Yes. With all my heart. I cannot explain it, but I…I'm drawn to you, and I'd go to the ends of the earth, to the seven levels of Hell itself and back if that was what it took to keep you safe and by my side, Esme."

Her heart fluttered wildly at the term of endearment, a nickname of sorts that Captain de Chateaupers had just bestowed upon her now.

Esmeralda breathed out a shaking breath and looked deeply into Phoebus de Chateauper's eyes. This was it. The point of no return, and from this…there was no going back. "I…I love you too, soldier boy," she confessed, biting the wall of her cheek as she fidgeted with her fingers.

Phoebus felt as if the very sun itself had risen after a century spent in darkness, wandering the world a broken, haunted soldier, lost, alone.

But not anymore. He had found a beautiful woman like La Esmeralda, his dancer, and what made this moment even more special was that she reciprocated his feelings, his love that he could declare soon.

Phoebus could no longer contain his joy, nor did the golden-haired soldier try to. Cradling Esmeralda's head in his hands, he lowered his face to hers until his lips met hers with fervor, finding Esmeralda's lips to be as equally starved and craving to feel his lips moving in a kiss.

Her shaking hands reached up and entangled themselves in his long golden hair before snaking their way around his neck and pulling him down slightly into the passionate embrace. The kiss exchanged between the soldier boy and the dancer was passionate, pure, and sweet.

His calloused thumb moved down her cheek as Phoebus broke apart the kiss first and pulled back slightly to study Esmeralda's face, her cheeks flushed high with color, and as he stared into her eyes so deeply, Esmeralda felt certain that Phoebus was bearing right into her very soul.

"Marry me." He pleaded breathlessly, and it was _not_ a question.

Stunned, Esmeralda blinked owlishly at the captain's shift in his countenance, though she quickly nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching upward, and the young Romani dancer did not bother to contain her smile of glee. She was unable to find her voice. "Yes," she managed to gasp out in a slightly choked voice through her happy sobs.

A tiny grin crept onto Esmeralda's features as she all but threw herself deeper into the soldier's strong arms, as best she could, her lips crashing against Phoebus's in a passionate kiss, her lips meeting his eagerly, and for a second time, the captain of the guard found himself locked in the dancer's sweet embrace.

The tender touch the two of them shared underneath the oak tree by the River Seine all but practically vanished. There wasn't anything else in the world except for the burning flame of their new love for one another, at the promise that Phoebus would take Esmeralda away from Paris and away from the tyrannical judge, her ice met Phoebus's fire.

A beautiful dream and a chaotic nightmare, but Phoebus would not change this moment for anything in the world, as something about this feeling made Captain Phoebus feel like everything would be all right.

This was not what Esmeralda had thought would happen when the captain merely wanted a 'word', but she certainly wasn't going to object. A kiss was one of the most sensual happenings, aside from the act of making love itself, and of course, Esmeralda loved it.

His lips were warm, the captain's strong hands gripping firmly around her waist and hers locked around his strong, slightly beefy neck, pulling him down into the embrace. When the two of them broke apart for air, Esmeralda rested her forehead against his and gathered some much-needed oxygen after it.

Phoebus's playful but adoring little smirk told Esmeralda everything she needed to know about her future husband, this soldier boy, and she smiled back, sinking into his hold.

So engrossed at the moment were the two young lovers, that if they would have looked to their left and behind Phoebus's shoulder, the pair of them would have seen none other than the pale, taut, fuming face of none other than Judge Claude Frollo, staring at the young lovers, spying on them, and mediating like death itself over what to do about his current fixation, his little 'issue.'

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**Ewww, Frollo is such a creep! The next chapter is Hellfire, and hopefully, the plot will pick up from here going forward as Frollo slowly loses his mind lol. Stay tuned for more!**


	24. Hellfire

**It's here where things (finally) pick up the pace in terms of Frollo going crazy and losing his mind lol, and brings in a new character in a future chapter that is of my own making, and while they are pivotal-ish to the plot, they don't take away from the overall story of Quasi/Madellaine and Esmeralda/Phoebus, but Frollo is definitely nuts, and I love every second of it lol.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four: Hellfire**

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**BY** God but he wished he did not see it. Judge Claude Frollo's cold listless steely orbs narrowed until they were mere slits, venting angrily in unimaginable, fathomless torment intermingled with that of rage while he peered from his hiding spot behind the tree, spying on his captain of the cathedral guard and that heathen gypsy witch. His calloused, long, spindly fingers tightened further around a piece of bark as his nails dug into the gnarled bark of the tree. He felt welling of warm, sticky, garish blood from underneath his nails, but Claude paid it no attention at all.

The Judge did not know just how long he had been spying on Captain de Chateaupers and that dancer as the pair of them meandered by the riverbank of the Seine before pausing underneath an old oak tree.

An hour, perhaps maybe two. He did not know, nor did he care. Meditating on this new development like death itself, and now, Claude knew not what to make of it, and very well could not step from his hiding place in the shadows behind the particularly large bough of the tree and give away his position, but nor could he allow this betrayal of Phoebus's to go unpunished. The bastard had been bewitched by her too, it seemed.

 _He must have helped her escape_ , he thought through gritted teeth. Claude could not help but think how his last captain of the guard had been such a disappointment to him when Chateaupers had answered his summons, returned home from the front of wars to serve under his command, the golden-haired soldier had shown immense untapped potential, and the man had a chance at redemption for all the blood on his ledger, his casualties of war, by serving him, and was now throwing it all away for the likes of a heathen, accursed temptress, that demon _witch_.

Judge Frollo considered himself an opportunist, in the end. No matter the end result, he would find a way to reap the benefits, his reward. Though at the moment, he struggled to think about what benefits came from this new development. Claude let out a sigh of discontent as his fingernails raked down the bark of the tree, and he flinched and hissed, not giving a damn if his fingernails bled until they were worn down at all.

 _So much promise. So much wasted potential, Captain Phoebus. I should have flayed this weakness out of you had I known when I had the chance_ , Frollo pondered, grinding his teeth in annoyance as he shook his head to clear it as he looked at the despicable image in front of his eyes.

Claude had been afraid of something like this happening, though he would dare not admit to anyone. The sorceress using her skills in black magic to bewitch and enchant lesser, _weak_ men like Phoebus, winding their will around her pinky, and it would seem she had been successful.

Ever since the witch had claimed sanctuary a few weeks ago in Notre Dame de Paris, Frollo had correctly detected a shift in Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers' countenance and his overall demeanor the last few days. Claude stifled a low growl forming in his throat, seeing every damned bloody detail of their forbidden embrace whether he wanted it or not. He most certainly did not want to bear witness to this vile and odious display, and yet, he could not seem to tear his gaze away from it.

Claude, even in his youth, had always possessed a keen gift of sight, seeing almost every little detail of his surroundings, no matter how minuscule or discreet. His eyes were those capable of counting the flap of a bird's wing, though the abhorrent sight before him caused the Judge to wish that he had never possessed such phenomenal eyesight at all.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Claude wished that his eyes were playing some kind of a trick on him, making sport of his troubled mind, but even now, as he spied on the pair of them behind the oak tree, he knew that it was not.

Right here and now, no matter how much he wished this raven-haired seductress would just keel over and die of a heart attack, or for the captain to have a change of heart and down the witch in the River Seine and leave his soul and heart in peace, he couldn't.

Everything was _real_. What Claude's sharp, hawk-like eyes were bearing witness to was real, no phantasm of his plagued, troubled mind.

Judge Frollo ran his tongue along the top wall of his white teeth, furiously grinding his molars together, his lips parched dry at the sight of his personally-appointed captain of the cathedral guard, that man whose war reputation preceded him, as he closed off the gap of space where the pair stood underneath a particularly large oak tree, their boughs swaying in the cold January breeze as the month came to an end, February approaching fast. He watched in despair and growing rage as Phoebus lowered his face to the witch's until he captured her lips in a warm kiss.

Claude sneered, watching in revulsion as La Esmeralda moved her arms to envelop her new lover's neck, returning the passionate embrace. Frollo swore he could feel the bewitching radiance of the girl's smile and the liveliness of her playful spirit, her heartbeats in her chest.

The Judge could hardly believe his eyes, still firmly attempting to convince his mind that this was another of the heathen gypsy's tricks.

 _Witchcraft_ , he thought, grinding his teeth to quell the slightly animalistic snarl that threatened to escape his slender chest, throat, and lips. Captain Phoebus had almost become unrecognizable, and he knew it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd trimmed his blond hair shorter.

Now his hair stuck up in wild tufts of disarray, looking like it had a mind of its own as it was windswept that Claude knew was due to the nature of the woman running her fingers through it in sheer ecstasy.

For Captain de Chateaupers to behave in such a disgusting way towards a heathen gypsy witch, looking so solemn and bowing his head towards this—this _witch_! A filthy _harlot_! For that was sure all that Phoebus could have known of the woman who'd defied him at the FOF.

He knew that it had merely been two weeks since the girl's claim to sanctuary back inside the cathedral walls, and surely, the captain and the dancer could not have spent that much time together unless Phoebus had deceived him right from the start. Claude began to feel a little bit sick.

He had been wrong as to the nature of Captain Phoebus's ambitions upon his return to Paris, it would seem, and seeing the monstrous sight before him hurt as hellfire itself. His own captain had become attached to a member of the very race that he sought to eradicate and remove the infestations of the Romani tribe from his city. _His_ Paris.

The Judge watched, his listless gaze unabashed as Captain Phoebus cradled the accursed heathen woman's head in his hands and he kissed the girl on the forehead and then moved his lips to meet hers again for a third time in another passionate embrace, which made him seethe.

The witch was a threat to his captain's ambitions, unhinging Phoebus by just a single bat of her heavily lidded lashes and a playful, flirtatious way of biting down on her bottom lip and wiggling her brows.

No matter how far the distance between the two lovers and himself from his hiding spot behind the old gnarled oak tree where Claude mediated like death over what to do about this new little problem, the Judge could read their very lips and read the words pouring out of their mouths. Claude stifled his growl of frustration, swallowing down the bitter acidic stomach bile that had crept its way up into his throat and settled precariously on his tongue, creating a warm, sick feeling in his throat and chest, until he thought he might very well vomit from the sight.

He grimaced, grinding his teeth, gnashing them together, snarling silently as he forced himself to turn his head away at long last from them the very second he saw how Captain Phoebus pulled Esmeralda close and pressed his lips to hers again for a hungry, lust-filled kiss. Hells, he thought viciously through gritted teeth. Damn to them to the seven hells.

 _I'll kill her. Burn her. Send her back to hell where she belongs. I'll kill that rutting sow and any bastard children the captain might impregnate her with_.

Frollo felt his eyes fling wide open, becoming wide and round with shock as he heard the whispered words of the captain of the guard saying something to the ebony-haired witch, words of love and affirmation, things he never thought a war hero of Phoebus' caliber with an insatiable lust for a variety of women from the brothels scattered about the city, would say, much less to a person who wasn't even fully _human_.

The woman was a demon sent from the depths of Hell itself sent to torment him. Of this he was sure. Yes, he was sure. Perhaps against his better judgment, knowing he really ought not, that the sight would only incite his wrath further, Claude looked, and immediately wished he hadn't. He was forced to watch and behold how Phoebus held the witch against the trunk of the oak tree they sought refuge under for privacy, and almost dig his teeth into the pale column of the heathen witch's throat.

Claude Frollo silently seethed, his nails fully bleeding and worn down to nubs now as he continuously scraped against the bark of the oak tree, an outlet to vent his pain and frustrations as he spied on the pair.

Together they looked too wrong. A dove and a raven entangled in each other's arms. Oil and water, bodies touching, fully clothed for now, though the question remained in Claude's mind, considering the passionate nature of their embrace how long that would remain to be the case. It looked like their very souls were making love, the pleasure showed in just a single kiss, a warm embrace, that caused a muscle in Frollo's eye to twitch.

Together, the soldier and the gypsy looked so begrudgingly perfect, it made Claude want to give everything to be in the captain's position right now. The girl responded to the captain's surprisingly tender and featherlight touches by slanting her head to the right and deepening their kiss, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling the tall man down to her level, letting herself be consumed in the bastard's insatiable lust for her at just the tip of his tongue as it delved into her mouth greedily, hungry.

Claude gnashed his teeth together in rage, turning his head sharply away to his immediate left just as a cold breeze crept against his heated and blotchy red skin. He growled in frustration and forced his numbed feet in his black leather boots to leave the despicable scene and make his way in the opposite direction, unable to watch a moment more.

He liked to think that he knew Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers better than anyone, and he knew all of the man's transgressions, perhaps even more so than his intended, the Barreau girl whom he'd dismissed, and had learned from none other than Alice when he paid his ward a visit just last week the girl was now claiming sanctuary within Notre Dame.

Yet another problem that was causing him grief, though he could trouble himself not now with thoughts of the blonde bewitching his ward, not when Esmeralda had somehow managed to escape from her 'prison.'

Claude wanted nothing more than for the heathen witch to just go away, to leave him and his captain of the cathedral guard in peace, to sever all connections with Phoebus and forget that she ever knew him.

The further he removed himself from the suggestive display by the River Seine, Claude felt the tension in his shoulders steadily melt away and begin to leave him, glad at last, that he knew now where she was.

His mind felt like it was reeling as he strode down the streets of Paris, not really sure where he was heading, only that his legs were no longer taking directions from his own mind, having a mind of their own.

Though before he turned around and headed back towards the Palace of Justice, wishing he'd thought to ride Snowball this evening, he stopped short and paused, his movements stilled and utterly unmoving.

If he could reach King Louis 'the Prudent' with this news and request an audience to inform the man of the wretch that plagued his precious City of Lovers with her black magic and tempting beauty, then surely the King would grant him his request to deal with the witch on his terms, would that not serve him better than to just let all of this go free?

For if this woman was as beautiful as he knew her to be, then why not…why not take the creature for himself? A witch and a demon though she was, the spirited, fiery dancer with the raven locks black as night had wormed her way underneath his skin and made it crawl, just as she had with his captain of the cathedral guard. La Esmeralda really was pretty.

Claude nodded his head in satisfaction, feeling a cruel smile begin to tug at the corners of his thin, wormy lips. He was, after all, a righteous man bound by the path his Lord, his God, had set for him in his lifetime.

The woman would not do to sire children with of course if he were to marry her. If the heathen gypsy witch could feel even a slight interest in Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, a younger man far more volatile and much more monstrous than his ward up in the bell towers of Notre Dame, then surely, Esmeralda would take comfort and allow for a wealthy man like Claude to comfort her instead? He could provide a better life for her.

This was better than his initial plan of sending a team of his best men after the witch to arrest her and discover the location of the Court of Miracles. And then there was the matter of his accursed wretched ward.

It did not take an intellectual scholar for Claude's cold and calculating mind to quickly put together the pieces. He'd had the entire cathedral surrounded by guards, there was no way she could have escaped if not for Quasimodo, the wretch who'd proven himself to be quite a skilled climber over the years as his brother's boy had grown up.

And then the little blonde lass, Lucien Barreau's daughter would need taken care of, though as he strode in lengthy strides for the Palace of Justice to mediate on these new developments as an idea began to take root in his mind, he knew just how to deal with her _if_ he could find her.

 _A girl misses her sister, does she not_? Judge Frollo thought wildly, feeling a sheen of sweat start to throng on his forehead and drip down the front of his temples. Given his vast resources and connections throughout Paris, with a little pleading on his part, a message could easily be sent.

What better point to emphasize to both his captain, who had betrayed his trust and seemed to have no sense of his position and his ward, who had disobeyed his orders directly again by helping the witch escape, damn him, to emphasize that the man was a broken wretch and that both men's futures rested solely in the hands of Claude, who would serve as the one person that would take away everything that the captain and the monster cared about, starting with Esmeralda and Madellaine.

Both women were a threat to Phoebus' ambitions, and as much as it pained him to admit this next fact to himself, he needed Jehan's boy.

And the blonde lass was yet another problem he was now saddled with, despite the fact that she was no longer under his servitude, he could not in good faith allow that woman to continue to draw in a breath when every word out of her mouth only incited ideas of rebellion in Quasimodo's weakened mind. And this, Claude, could simply not allow.

Esmeralda and Madellaine were threats to his ambitions, usurpers of his rule with just one sharp word from their tongues that surely must be hung in the middle so they could wag at both ends. They were nothing but complications, and Claude knew he needed to remedy this 'little problem' before things in Paris could escalate any further and civil discourse broke out as his men continued to round up the gypsies.

He would take care of Esmeralda soon enough. But first, to take care of the blonde wretch and have her forcefully removed from his ward's life. And Claude knew just the person to send a message to in order to make that happen. Claude Frollo, as he lingered on the front steps of the Palace of Justice outside, felt a certain unease in his slender chest.

He had not seen her in years and wondered what she would say when she learned of the recent developments of her younger sister's life.

Most likely if he knew Maria de Barreau, nothing pleasant. The last he had heard tell of Lucien Barreau's eldest daughter, she had married a lord and had taken herself off to the eastern part of Germany.

Claude huffed in frustration and wrenched open the wide oak double doors to the Palace of Justice, not wanting to linger in the cold.

He had a raven to send before it was entirely too late to act on his plan. It was time for Barreau to be reunited with her sister all these years.

As Claude stalked down the hallways of the Palace of Justice towards his personal study, his legs were shaking as he flung open the door to his study so loud and hard, the thing rattled in its rusted hinges.

" _Frollo…come to me, Claude…set me free_ …" He could swear he could hear La Esmeralda whispering to him in a husky voice low with desire, but he could not see her. The Judge ached to touch her so badly, and yet she was nowhere to be found in the room. She was with Phoebus.

His long, pale fingers clenched in shaking fists as he collapsed into the crimson velvet armchair by the fireplace, pounding on the sides of his head, hitting against his thick tuft of salt and pepper luscious head of hair.

Esmeralda's face was bloody everywhere, it was all he could focus on. Her oblong, pale face was permanently planted into his mind, and try as hard as he might, he could not shake the vision of her dance from his mind. Claude squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to rid himself of the girl's image that way, though to no avail. Her bright, white, and wide smile shined against his closed lids, not letting him see darkness, but instead, colors of fondness.

Claude wanted to take his own dagger and carve it right off her beautiful features because her smile was not aimed at _him_. When his eyes were open, all he could see were those almost cat-like, piercing eyes of green, beckoning him to her aura with just a single look. Except they weren't looking at him. They were looking at _Phoebus_.

It made him want to gouge out her retinas. Ah, but God, Claude could practically feel his calloused hands running through her raven locks. _No_! He ground his teeth, curling his shaking hand into a fist, and slammed it down on the edge of his armchair's armrest in a fit of anger.

Claude knew he should not let Esmeralda maintain such an ironclad hold on him, he should not think of the witch, but he knew that telling himself this was a rather futile effort, and it was all for naught now.

The witch had him around her little finger and didn't even know, and yet, she was now off with that bastard by the River Seine, for all he knew rutting with that—that captain like a dog in heat! Phoebus did not deserve Esmeralda, the boorish captain could not handle a girl like her.

It infuriated Claude that the witch would not choose him, that she had effectively rejected his offer to stay within the cathedral walls earlier.

The ship had long sailed for Paris' Judge to see any semblance of reason. All he could focus on now as he stared into the depths of the roaring fire in the fireplace was La Esmeralda and the feelings she invoked. The admiration, the lust, the arousal, the aggravation, desire.

Claude growled in frustration and licked his lips to moisten them, stomping his feet on the wooden floorboard beneath his boots and shook his head violently. Why could the witch just not see sense? Why was this?

What did Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers have besides youth that he did not? He could be poised, well dressed. Claude was intelligent, as a public official of the city. He was certainly wealthy enough, good-looking in his own right, in a refined, handsome, and yet mature way.

But she had chosen the 'Sun God.' Claude ground his teeth and decided as he hastily scrolled a message to King Louis requesting an audience with the man on the morrow if he would permit it of him, that he could no longer sit idly in the Palace of Justice while the witch had nestled herself inside of his darkening heart and slipped from his grasp.

La Esmeralda would be _his_ , and not Phoebus's. Or she would burn. She was going to be his and his _alone_ , and he would make sure of it. " _Come to me, Claude…._ " This time, he swore he really did hear the girl.

He sanguinely swiveled his head in the direction of the entryway to his study, as his lips tilted upwards in an unnaturally widened smirk.

" _Set me free_."

Claude stared, seeing nothing there, but hearing her until he could ignore the woman's presence no longer. He half-rose from the chair he had been sitting in, his knuckles white-boned as they curled around the arms of the chair for support. The Judge knew what he needed to do.

He would take care of his Captain of the cathedral guard, and the blonde girl's pitiful claim to a sanctuary, and he'd have Esmeralda to himself. Claude licked his teeth as he strode towards his desk for a quill to finish off the last of his message that was to be sent by the raven. Tonight.

There could be no delays.

"You will see, my dear. I'll set you free."

Some Parisians would say that love held a tendency to make the heart grow fonder, and in that case, they would be correct in their assumption. But in Judge Claude Frollo's case, his 'love' for Esmeralda had morphed into a dangerous obsession, and it made his heart grow darker, and it was this that stumped Claude and left him sleepless for the rest of the night, with one single thought that resonated within his mind.

_She will be mine. Or she will burn…_


	25. Reunited Once More

**Hi all, and welcome back! Fair warning: This chapter introduces an original character of mine, but one that I hope will provide a bit more complexity to Madellanie's character and kind of moves the plot along in terms of her and Quasi's growing relationship. I hope that you enjoy it!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: Reunited Once More**

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**THE** top of the world up here in the bell ringer's towers seemed limitless. Ever since Captain Phoebus had escorted her to her new home, her safe haven, this sanctuary, Madellaine had spent most of her free time in Quasi's tower, keeping her friend company over the next three weeks.

Though admittedly, there were nights that she wished she could be back home in Saint Paul de Vence in her family's own home, in her bed, that simple and modest place that she had once ridiculed and scorned.

Strange. Madellaine smiled to herself as she stepped out onto the balcony terrace of Quasimodo's north bell tower loft, finding her friend in quiet pensive contemplation, perched precariously on the balustrade. She was amazed at his ability and nimbleness, and not to mention, his lack of fear of heights, a feat she wished she could master.

Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, and the young blonde hearth keep licked her lips to moisten them as she joined the bell ringer in his place of quiet contemplation.

She visibly cringed, hoping Quasi hadn't seen it, though it was so damned audibly loud as her stupid heart, this throbbing mass of corded muscle in its cage of bone and cartilage, that the young woman was honestly surprised the redhaired bell ringer could not hear it for himself.

The young blonde shot him what she hoped was a convincing smile as she rested her hands on the balcony railing, close enough that her hand hovered near his right gloved hand, close enough to touch if she was of a mind to. The girl bit her bottom lip in hesitation.

Madellaine was no fool. She could tell by the two-day growing stubble on his jawline and the darkening circles under Quasi's eyes that he worried for the Romani woman, La Esmeralda.

According to him, she had informed him that she would stop by his bell towers to visit when it was safe, though judging by the way that the City of Lovers burnt in the distance, the young blonde suspected that 'safe' was not about to come to Paris anytime soon, and it might be a while before Esmeralda's next visit.

"Quasi?" she whispered in what she hoped was a soothing, kind, and quiet voice. He flinched when Madellaine gently laid a hand on his shoulder as her inquisitive blue eyes followed his line of sight, out into the city and towards the latest fire.

The Judge had ordered his men to find Esmeralda and had gone so far as to set fire to establishments and the homes of those who did not comply or cooperated with the man's demands by revealing the whereabouts of the infamous Court of Miracles.

He did not immediately answer. Madellaine furrowed her brows as she snapped her fingers in front of his face, but his attention seemed fixated on something else in front of him entirely, that she could not see.

"Uh, Quasi? _Hello_?" she pressed, beginning to grow panicked when her friend did not respond. She huffed in frustration, resisting the urge to stomp her foot as a temporary release of her pent up frustrations.

The young red-haired bell ringer blinked, startled, and slowly, almost sanguinely swiveled his head to regard the young blonde in a stupor. "Wh—what?" he stammered, a light pink blush speckling on her cheeks. "I—I'm sorry, Madellaine," he apologized, shooting her a pained look. "I—I was…preoccupied," he murmured, pointedly looking away.

Madellaine sighed, knowing full well his mind was on other things but did not care to press him. If she pushed him too hard to tell her what was troubling him, he very well might retreat further into himself, and the last thing Madellaine wanted was to scare him away.

When Madellaine older sister, Maria, growing up, had a crush, Madellaine had always found it so amusing. Maria had been so easy to tease, especially when the boy was so far out of her reach.

But now that Madellaine had her first infatuation with this boy, this demon, this man who was less than a man that polite Parisian society would surely shun her for, it felt as though an invisible pillow were pressing against her lips.

His tenor-like, quiet voice, sometimes grating and rough around the edges whenever he got angry (which thankfully was very rare!), his serious lips and strong muscles that lay hidden beneath the layers of his long-sleeved linen undershirts and thick woolen tunics all meant to downplay the man's impressive strength was all that her brain dwelled on these days, the more time she spent around the man, helping with his chores, eating his meals with him, and generally keeping him company up here.

Her appetite dwindled, her mind suffered when she closed her eyes at night, visions of his face flitted through the forefront of her mind. Though not the most handsome bloke, a rather plain chap despite the man's deformities, they were not what she focused on when she looked at his face when exchanging dialogue with Notre Dame's sole bell ringer.

But rather, she focused on his eyes, those pale blue orbs of crystalline blue. Haunting. Mesmerizing. Bewitching, ensnaring. She had begun to blush whenever Quasi looked her way, and right now was no exception. There was something about his genuine warmth that was truly contagious, and if she looked closely enough, like she always tended to do, more times often than naught, she could see the occasional flickering of the shadow of the handsome man she knew the cathedral's bell ringer to be, underneath his deformities.

Madellaine swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat, feeling her mouth go dry, as their shoulders practically touched on another's, given how close they were standing next to each other out here.

She wondered briefly if this was how Maria felt when her elder sister got her first crush. Madellaine looked Quasi's way, her mouth slowly forming the perfect smile, despite her initial uneasiness at her reasons for coming out here. She'd hoped to tell him the truth finally.

Her skin tingled whenever he touched her, and anytime their gazes met and locked, her heart would beat so erratically in her chest that she thought it might just very well fly out like one of the tower pigeons.

Madellaine finally admitted to herself what she knew all along but was too afraid to admit it. She liked this man. A lot. And wanted to be with him, in _that_ way, if he would have her. If he'd think himself worthy.

Her only hope was that he would, that years of abuse and suffering at the Judge's hand had not regressed his thinking to a stage of denial where he would shoot her down the earliest opportunity, she had to discuss it with him. She emanated a shaking breath, letting it out slowly.

This was bloody _it_. It was now or never. She had to start somewhere, and she might as well start now, or she would _never_ say it.

And there was perhaps one thing that she would regret in this life more than anything else, and that was not telling Quasi how she felt about him.

"You worry for Esmeralda," she said pointedly, letting a tiny sigh of defeat escape her lips as she propped her elbows up on the railing of the balustrade and rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the burning city. "Esmeralda is going to be _fine_. The girl can take care of herself, Quasi. It is going to be all right. You'll see. I…I promise. She will come, my friend."

Though even as she spoke the words, a twinge of fear pricked at her heartstrings, and a steady stream of doubt trickled its way into her consciousness as the snakelike voice that sat at the back of her mind taunted her, hissing her black, rotten thoughts into the shell of her ear.

 _But what if she can't? What if she isn't fine? For all you know, Frollo's men have captured her and burned alive at the stake for her crimes_ , it hissed, eliciting a startled gasp from the young blonde as she irritably waved her hand away in an effort to silence the wicked voices.

Luckily, Quasimodo had not noticed her otherwise strange behavior. He spoke, shattering the awkward silence that felt like it was suffocating the air between the two of them as they stood out on the balcony, here together at the top of the world, just the two of them, alone.

"I—if something happens to her, I—I'd _never_ forgive myself!" he growled, curling his gloved hands into fists, and slamming them down on the balustrade. Any other normal man would have broken their wrist by pounding their hands on the harsh stone like that, but not Quasimodo.

Madellaine reeled back slightly, surprised at his seemingly violent outburst. "Then," she began slowly and cautiously, not wanting to say the wrong thing that would placate his already sour mood, "we'll save her, my friend. You and I," she did her best to reassure the distraught bell ringer.

Sensing he needed a moment to digest her words, Madellaine let out a tired sigh and turned her gaze back out towards the city, letting the man have his moment of peace, and hopefully, he would begin to see it. That she, like him, cared about Esmeralda too, and the worry at not knowing what had happened to their other friend was eating her alive.

Quasi merely grunted wordlessly in response and looked away.

 _Do you remember the night on the roof_? Quasi, almost unaware of the young blonde's presence as he lost himself in quiet contemplation, slowly gazed to his left, towards the whisperer, this phantasm. _Esme_.

This night, like most of the nights since she had escaped Notre Dame with his help three weeks ago, she was looking down at him with her ebony raven hair unbound, the bell ringer liked it that way. No braids nor headscarves nor clips adorned. No jewels or roses. He wondered if Esmeralda would have liked it that way then. Esmeralda smiled at him, but her lips remained a straight line, and there was sadness in her eyes.

Quasimodo knew, swearing on God Himself, and begging the deity for His forgiveness, that his mind played a sport of his accursed, wretched vision in his one good eye that still possessed the gift of good sight.

He was trapped in his own illusions as worry wormed its way into his stomach, and his knuckles gripped tightly onto the balustrade, white-boned with the effort to steady himself as his stomach swooped in circles. He was now living in a metaphor that only he was able to access, a place where Madellaine, as much as he wanted her to, could not follow.

Quasimodo's slightly misshapen face remained in a stoic apathy, though La Esmeralda's creative artistry at the way she chose to appear to him, a phantasm or not, made him smile. This—this had to be a dream.

It just _had_ to be. A dream of her, imagining, indulging in the pleasure of the unseen, dreaming of a woman he knew he could not keep.

Why he let Esmeralda ghost him like this and torment him so, the bell ringer did not know, though even right now, he could see her leering. He read the very expression on her lips which said that he did not know because, sheltered up here, trapped at the top of the world as he was, he knew very little of the outside world and the ways of its workings.

But now he knew. Master's mind was sending him insane as his men, his soldiers, with Captain de Chateaupers at the helm of it all, ransacking his precious city, the City of Lovers apart, burning it, because of _her_. Quasi swallowed down hard past the growing lump in his throat.

He knew that night when he'd scaled the bottom of the cathedral walls, there were things left unsaid between him and La Esmeralda, emotions that were left chained and shackled, mostly solely on his part.

Words that he wished to say to her that was left imprisoned. All of those things, these thoughts and feelings, and more than that besides appeared to him during quiet moments, times like right now, wishing to be freed when Quasimodo fretted that he had no more chances left to say what was really on his mind, the words of affirmation he wished to speak.

To Quasi, this forlorn and lonesome man, though admittedly less these days now that Madellaine was a constant presence in his life alongside Sister Alice and of course, his gargoyles, Esmeralda was everywhere, questioning him, haunting him, plaguing his mind, always.

And every night as he thrashed about in sleep, he swore he felt her fingertips of flame leaving hot trails of sparks in her wake, whispering things to him in a touch of ash, and when he'd wake in a cold sweat and a gasp of surprise and fear upon his lips, he'd swear he smelt smoke. Fire.

 _"_ _Do you love me, Quasimodo?"_ Unlike the other nights when he felt himself an imbecile in terms of having no adequate response to give, this time, this time for sure, he had the answer, and he said it as much.

"Yes." He pursed his lips to swallow, the heat creeping onto his cheeks at a rapid place as he could feel Madellaine's piercing stare out of the corner of the peripherals of his one good eye. "You _know_ that I do."

He was sure now that Madellaine would think him a bloody fool, whispering to himself in an assumed madness, talking to the apparition of Esmeralda invented by his mind to combat his loneliness while he prayed to God and His angels above that the Romani girl would be safe.

But Esmeralda's silence reigned, and a pause in her response was nothing he could have hoped for, and he felt his face become crestfallen.

He was sure, yes, he was sure, that La Esmeralda's face in front of his cursed eyesight was a false image, an apparition if you will, but somehow, he continued to allow his damned mind to play with his consciousness, continuing speaking to the ebony-haired girl in whispers.

This time, Quasimodo could see light crystals at the edges of her piercing eyes of green, looking down, and Esmeralda's face became distorted by attempts to cease the crying.

He never had seen his friend cry. He almost laughed silently at the thought of the strong, fierce, independent woman crying, shedding a single tear, that which his own imagination was now witnessing, despite him not being able to believe it.

Esmeralda did not seem to be the type of woman who cried. She had a face that was as rigid as finest of marble, words sharper than the steel of a Roman sword, the skills of Valkyrie warriors, and the weakness, in his mind, of a princess of the tales of old. He loved her, but she had not chosen him, and he could not choose her, and still, he loved her from afar.

It would have to be enough, for she had chosen him. The Sun God. He flinched as an abrupt bitterness settled in the pit of his stomach at the mere mention of the Captain's nickname, that stupid golden-haired man.

Quasi held himself back and willed his mind to stay this madness and stop the delirium before his new friend beside him thought him mad.

But still, his lips continued to speak, the continuation of his heart.

"Aye. You were right to leave the cathedral, Esmeralda. But what wasn't right was when you left _me_ ," he whispered hoarsely, and he winced as he heard an audible gasp coming from his immediate left. Madellaine.

"You love her." Quasi flinched at the curt, clipped tones of the young blonde's voice, not sure where the sudden shift in his friend's countenance was coming from, and it took the man a fraction of a second to realize that Madellaine was addressing him, and she'd asked him a question, and he blinked rapidly, forcing the voices in his head to stay quiet a moment longer so he could hear her question again. " _Do_ you?"

"I…y—yes, b—but she—she….loves that man, that _soldier_ ," he spat, unable to disguise the note of bitterness in his voice as he was surprised to hear himself confess perhaps his deepest, darkest secret to someone.

He could practically feel Madellaine stun at his confession, though when at last he dared to lift his chin and meet her gaze, she hid it quite well, and instead, had perfected a look of almost downright anger.

For her already pale features had whitened even more so, and her pink lips were pursed into such a thin line, her brows shooting so far up onto her forehead that they almost disappeared into the girl's hairline.

"You don't…you don't _hate_ me, do you?" Madellaine asked softly. She was biting down on her bottom lip, hard enough to cause it to bleed.

Quasi had to resist the urge to reach up to his hand and smack her hand away as she began to pick at the skin of her lip in nervous agitation.

" _No_!" Quasi answered and immediately drifted one of his hands down to fall over the top of hers. "I could _never_ hate you. I hope you don't hate me, either," he murmured, feeling momentarily relieved that for the moment, the uncontrollable heat between his chest had stopped, for which he was grateful.

"How?" Madellaine breathed, her blue eyes wide and round as she desperately searched Quasi's face for any semblance of the honest truth.

"How what?" Quasi blinked, suddenly feeling dazed and confused.

"How could I possibly hate you, Quasi?" The very concept of such an idea seemed to greatly disturb Madellaine, for her face rapidly paled and looked stricken, her lips parted slightly in shock and she looked as though Quasi had slapped her. "Because of your looks? Is that truly what you believe, my friend?"

Quasi ran his tongue over the wall of his teeth as he struggled to think of an apt response to the question that she had just posed to him, but Madellaine wasn't finished just yet.

"But Quasi, you are a difficult man to hate. Can't you _see_ that? You saved my life. More times now than I can count on my fingers," she murmured, glancing down at her hands resting in her lap as she nervously fidgeted with them. "You are a _good_ man. Kind, even to those who don't deserve your unfailing kindness and your mercy," she scowled, and a dark look crossed over her pale features, and Quasi could tell without even having to ask that she was thinking of Frollo. "You're _kind_. Even when you don't have to be, and that is the thing that makes you beautiful." Madellaine shook her head and swallowed back a sob. "But you are incapable of seeing yourself as I do."

Stillness filled the balcony as Quasi stared at her, at an utter loss for words, his mouth open, but nothing was coming to him as he struggled to think of something to say in response to his friend's statement. Never _once_ in his _life_ had someone spoken to him in this regard, not even Sister Alice from downstairs said such things to him when she came up to visit him.

Quasi raised his eyebrows at Madellaine, they shot so far up onto his forehead that they almost disappeared into his hair. His first natural instinct was to brush off her remarks and deny everything she had just said, but the darkening look resting in Madellaine's eyes warned him against it.

In fact, in the three weeks of their increasingly growing warm friendship, Quasi could not for the life of him ever recall seeing such a strange look on his new friend's face. Intermingling and potent mixtures of sadness, uneasiness, sincerity, and…something _else_ , a foreign emotion he could not quite identify.

If Quasi was being perfectly honest with himself, it both frightened him and held him captivated and enthralled by her gaze, and unable to pull away.

"You have sad eyes, Quasi," Madellaine pointed out, a pained expression on her face. "You see yourself as immoral, something not right because of your condition. This—this _horrible_ anger that you feel, you keep it bottled, this coldness that is not like you at all, it's directed towards _yourself_ and this world that you live in that does not treat you fairly. You do not care for yourself."

Quasi looked away and lowered his head in shame as her words hit him like a block of ice square in his chest, allowing that one stubborn lock of his lank, coarse red bangs to fall into his eyes, and Madellaine could tell Quasi did not want to accept her words as fact. She heaved a small sigh of frustration as the young blonde woman realized that what she had just said was not merely enough for him.

She dared to scoot a fraction of an inch closer as they sat down, and if she were any closer by this point in their conversation, she would practically be straddling his lap.

Madellaine was not at all surprised when his hands gripped onto her waist tightly, though the glower he shot her like a defensive, caged beast ready to sink its claws into her flesh if she dared to cross that boundary of their friendship _did_.

"You punish yourself for your condition, Quasi," she whispered, reaching up a shaking hand to card back that stubborn lock of light red hair. "You still _do_. But what happened to you when you were born is _not_ your fault."

" _Why_?" Quasi spat, looking down at the ground beneath their boots. Quasi was growing exhausted, she could see it, and she wondered if after this they would return to the dinner in the kitchens downstairs, but it did not stop Madellaine from seeing the shadow of the monster within dart across his features and into his eyes in her friend's face, and she realized that the man and the monster were one and the same. Complements and curses of one another, and to attempt to separate the two would be disastrous.

"You feel powerless, Quasi," Madellaine spoke, raking her hand through his hair, and she bit the wall of her cheek as a shudder of…something traveled down Quasi's slightly misshapen spine, though he made no effort at all to remove her hand. "Because of your looks and your deformities. Yes, I admit you aren't normal, and as such, you feel as though you have no purpose in this world. But we _all_ feel like this at times, Quasi."

"Like what?" Quasi asked, furrowing his brows into a frown.

Madellaine's voice had faltered halfway through her speech to her partner and trailed off because she soon came to the realization that she spoke of herself. Quick to recognize her sudden mistake, Madellaine turned away and sighed. They were much alike. They both felt the same things. _Wanted_ the same thing. At least, she _thought_ they did.

Madellaine emanated a tense exhale through her nose and swiveled her head back around to regard Quasi, whose light blue eyes had darkened with such intensity, glistening with some unspoken emotion that she wasn't sure what he might be feeling at this moment.

"You have…you've been burying your pain, Quasi," Madellaine whispered by way of responding to her friend's question.

"Pain?" Quasi repeated, sounding as though he could not believe her words. "Who said I was in pain?" Quasi spoke again, his voice solemn.

Madellaine merely proceeded to say nothing and instead offered a sad smile and rested her cheek in her hand. "You did not have to say it. Your expression speaks for yourself. You have sad eyes."

A pause in response was nothing Madellaine could have hoped for, as Quasi closed his eyes as if he were fighting back against something terrible and losing. They stayed closed as if he could not bear to look upon her.

Madellaine felt her brows knit together in confusion as she processed the hurt she felt inside at the man's silence to her what should have been an obvious statement, but could not understand for the life of her why she felt so disappointed by his sullenness.

"Madellaine…" murmured Quasi, his fingers on her waist tightening slightly, sending a spiraling heat through Madellaine's system. "After…after what happened those few weeks ago at the Feast of Fools, then…you must know that I…" His voice trailed off in silence.

Madellaine felt her blue eyes widen in shock as she looked up, Quasi still continuing to keep his eyes closed and his jaw clenched shut with the effort to restrain himself from doing… _something_ , though what that was, she didn't know. Was he…was he talking about what she thought he was talking about?

"Know what?" she whispered hoarsely in response, and Quasi was no fool. He knew Madellaine was not ignorant of the fact that ever since that moment in the bell tower, when it was just the two of them alone, there had been that look exchanged between the two of them, though no words were spoken, and it was then that something had changed.

And all the anxiety Quasi had felt for the past two weeks had inevitably led up to this moment, the two of them alone, and uninterrupted for a change. Quasi's gaze drifted down towards her lips, thinking that they had never been this close before, and as he allowed his wretched sight to ghost across the features of his new friend's pale face, he realized tonight Madellaine wore a different expression, and it hit him square in the chest, this painful realization that Quasi soon recognized that his greatest fear had perhaps come true.

She _did_ feel the unimaginable foreign thing that had churned inside of him now for weeks. Quasi wasn't even if sure if either of them knew what it was, but both of them knew they were broaching the point of no return, and neither seemed compelled to walk away first.

"Don't you know, Madellaine? You must," he tried again, lowering his voice, and deepening it slightly so that only Madellaine could hear.

Not that they were in danger of being overheard when it was just the two of them out here, though he suspected Victor, Hugo, and Laverne and the other saints had found a way to eavesdrop, somehow.

Madellaine did not answer him. Her blue eyes widened as her irises widened and remained transfixed on his face. He felt as if they were on the edge of a cliff, and both of them about trip down it and fall towards the sea below it.

 _Don't… don't do this…_ the rational side of his conscience was screaming at him not to, that he would regret this with every fiber of his being if he did. With a slightly shaking hand, Quasi cupped Madellaine's face and he could feel the young woman stiffen slightly before leaning closer into him just now. The effect this had on him was anything _but_ insignificant.

But God, she was so beautiful, and the sudden intensity of her gaze suddenly made him feel self-conscious.

"Quasi?" Madellaine spoke his name with such gentle grace, her voice barely above a whisper, and just the sound of his name on her tongue caused his heart to thrum erratically against his chest, and he swallowed down hard past the growing lump in his throat, and he looked up briefly, only to accidentally brush his nose against hers.

He could swear he could see his incredulous expression reflected in the young woman's glistening bright blue orbs, and it felt like he was going to implode if he did not do something about this problem soon.

He knew she didn't care for him back, but he couldn't resist. He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching.

Dear God above help him, he couldn't fight against the thoughts that were going through him. Her smell was flooding his senses now...

The tips of their noses were practically touching, she was close enough to reach up and—

"Madellaine?" A female's voice rang out from behind her, and Quasi outwardly groaned, one of frustration and fatigue at Alice's interruption, and he did not even have to look behind him to imagine the slight smirk that was likely forming on the pretty nun's youthful features.

Both swiveled their heads in the direction of the interruption and, true to form, found the mischievous nun resting against the wall of the balcony, her back pressed against the cold cobblestoned wall, her pale blue orbs twinkling playfully, though her expression remained somber.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, a note of mischief in her voice, as she folded her arms across her chest and looked to Quasi.

"No," he growled instantaneously, trying (and failing) to ignore the light pink blush speckling its way along his cheeks as he took a step back and then another few steps to put as much distance between himself and the young blonde as possible, not wanting Alice to get the wrong idea.

"Wh—what can we do for you, Alice? Do you need help?" Madellaine asked in a shaking, breathless sounding voice as she reached up a trembling hand to tuck a stray wisp of her short blonde pixie back into place. She bit her bottom lip and looked towards her for assurance.

"You have got a visitor, my dear," Alice murmured darkly, almost under her breath in a tone that sounded hardened. She did not sound pleased.

"A—a _visitor_?" Madellaine blinked.

She knew no one else in Paris, save for Jeanne, Sophia, Esmeralda, and Phoebus, and neither of them was in any particular good condition to pay her a visit here in Notre Dame, so else would be coming by to see _her_?

"B—but _who_ ….?" Her voice cracked and trailed off as her ears perked up at the sound of a soft pair of footfalls coming from within the north bell tower's living loft nearby.

Quasi instinctively stiffened and recoiled, though Madellaine's gaze remained fixated on the approaching silhouette, too dark to make out as the figure still remained shrouded in the shadows of the tower loft.

Her heart soared as the figure came into view, and she bounded forward, at first thinking it to be Esmeralda had made good on her promise to return to see Quasi (and to a lesser extent, her, she supposed), though her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as an ear-piercing shriek rent the chilly air and reverberated off the walls of the man's tower loft.

The cry of anguish came again, this time, more desperate. The sound immediately made Madellaine's ears perk up at the noise, and her head remained quite still. A young woman a few years older than she was suddenly stepped over the threshold that separated the bell tower's loft from the balcony and into everyone's line of sight, and Madellaine felt her breaths catch in her throat as the figure lifted her chin and met her gaze.

 _Oh, damn_. After all this time, she'd not thought she'd see her again. The woman was tall, around 5'6, much taller than Madellaine.

Her hair was also short, cut eerily similar to Madellaine's in a pixie, but a vibrant ebony black in color, rivaling that of a raven's wing, jet black, their mother's hair, though this woman possessed the same pair of cobalt blue eyes that their mother once had, and right now, they were burning bright with a smoldering, fathomless fury as they darted to and from, first settling on Madellaine, and then drifting towards Quasimodo.

Maria de Barreau, Madellaine's older sister by five years, felt her face drain of colors as she set her inquisitive blue eyes on the accursed wretch. She had received the raven from the Judge himself, who had bid her come to Paris at once, claiming that her precious sister had taken a fancy to an accursed wretch, a monster of a creature, a demon from hell.

Maria had initially laughed when she had received the letter, though out of the goodness of her heart, she had come anyways with the intent of humoring Father's old friend, now, she could see the truth.

She had been mistaken in that regard. And Maria couldn't handle it.

"No, she whispered desperately in a voice that sounded so small. "No, no, no, no, no, you—you _beast_! Wh—what in the seven hells have you done to my _sister_ , you—you _animal_!" she snarled, her wrathful gaze flitting back upwards to meet Quasimodo's stunned and quite frankly, angered glower as he looked the woman dead square in the eyes.

The red-haired bell ringer felt his face drain of color and immediately took several steps back, feeling his lip curling upward in a low snarl. He backed away from the encroaching young woman and from behind her, this had to be Madellaine's sister he'd heard tell of from Madellaine herself, as she had taken great pains while he worked on his chores to entertain him with stories from her childhood, with an equally disturbed look on her face, and still, Quasi continued his retreat, though he needed to make a bolt for his tower loft to retreat into the shadows, though he already knew this to be a futile effort as the woman had seen him already, and the damage was done.

But still, the bell ringer backed away from the woman and her rapidly swelling rancor, both out of fear for himself and for Madellaine, what her sister would do to her in her ire. Fearing that this woman wanted him hurt, judging by the way her shaking fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, he darted behind Madellaine, feeling the gentle wind greet the stones beneath their feet and his skin just the same, and he flinched, startled, as the familiar sound wafted through his eardrums.

Yet, he was blessed to feel it, for he heard the soothing murmurs of Madellaine whispering into the shell of his ear.

"I—I don't believe it," she croaked hoarsely, sounding on the brink of something that Quasi wasn't sure he could describe if he wanted to.

Sister Alice, God bless her, had moved from her perch against the wall and came to stand alongside Quasi, to protect him from this new arrival who seemed hellbent on murdering him with just dagger eyes.

There could be no doubt in Quasi's mind now as to who this woman was and what this raven-haired woman who looked strikingly like a twin to Madellaine in both appearance and voice wanted of him now.

She wanted his life. She believed him to be the one responsible for the young blonde woman's plight, that he had somehow…forced her into claiming sanctuary and… Quasi didn't even want to think about the rest.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shot a prayer to Victor, Hugo, and Laverne, silently pleading for his guardians to help him out.

His friends, perhaps for the first time in his life, did not answer him, and it was then that Quasimodo knew the three stone figures could not help him with this one. No.

He was well and truly on his own to deal with the brand-new problem that was staring him and Madellaine straight in the eyes, with a burning, glowering animosity in her blue eyes that Quasi knew that he himself was the root cause, and Madellaine was to bear the brunt of her older sister's wrath. He could feel it in his bones.

Perhaps his only consolation to assuage the guilt of his part that he had played in essentially ruining his new friend's life as Maria de Barreau finally, almost slowly and methodically, tore her piercing, listless gaze away from his unusual and slightly misshapen form and back towards her sister, was that the older woman could not harm Madellaine whilst within the cathedral walls, here on Holy Ground, so there was that.

Not that it did any good to ease his worries, and if anything, it only intensified when Maria parted her lips open to speak and addressed her.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you, dear sister… _alone_?!"

Madellaine hesitated, biting the wall of her cheek as she glanced back over her shoulder towards Quasi, who seemed rooted to his spot and frozen in fear, though he quickly ducked his head and allowed a fiery lock of sun-kissed ginger hair, that one same stubborn lock, to fall in front of his eyes and shield his expression from her, and then towards Alice, who offered a brief incline of her head, as if to tell her, "Go along now. Go…"

She nodded, swallowing down hard past the lump in her throat before turning back towards her older sister and dipping her head in submission, all the while nervously fidgeting with her fingers, weaving her knuckles in between her fingers, and reluctantly allowed Maria to lead her out of the bell tower and down into the main level of the church.

Away from Quasi…

Her only thought as she followed her sister towards one of the spare cloister rooms where they could converse in private was a simple but a poignant one.

_I hope this isn't a mistake…_

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**Oh, dear. It seems that Madellaine and Maria are about to have a very awkward conversation about her life choices. I wasn't originally going to include her sister in this story since it's already hella long as it is, but since we didn't get much Madellaine backstory in movie 2 (a trash movie IMHO but I did like Madellaine and thought she was the absolute cutest and perfect for Quasi if that was the only good thing to come out of the movie) I decided to make up my own and give it a bit of a darker feel to match the tone of the first movie.**

**It's here where things start to pick up a bit. The next 2 chapters are Madellaine/Quasi dealing with her older sister's sudden and unexpected arrival to Paris, and then Ch. 27 is one of my favorite parts of the Musical/Movie: Phoebus rescuing the Miller's/brothel owner's family! Stay tuned for more, my lovely readers, and I hope that you continue to enjoy it!**


	26. A Sisterly Spat

**Hi all, and welcome back! Not too much to say for this chapter, so on with the show!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Six: A Sisterly Spat**

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**MADELLAINE** felt as though her heart were pounding against her chest as she reluctantly allowed herself to be led down the north bell tower stairwell and away from Sister Alice and Quasi, where Maria seemed to be hellbent on leading her towards an isolated cloister cell, with her older sister seeming visibly disappointed in her for reasons that the young blonde could only begin to question it, but didn't really want to.

Maria hadn't spoken much. She had instructed her older sister to speak in private, and the two of them made their way downstairs to the main level of the sanctuary, away from the other prying ears, reunited after so many years apart, and Madellaine was not exactly thrilled to see her. She herself wasn't even sure where Maria wanted to go, because of the fact that her sibling refused to walk in front of her, or even beside her.

Instead, she followed silently as Madellaine guessed as to where Maria wanted their private conversation to take place and opted for the same spare cloister cell that Alice had prepared Madellaine's quarters in. She sincerely hoped Maria wasn't _too_ upset with her, and she could not help but wonder just how it was that she had found her, after all this time. Madellaine had expected some form of anger from her older sister, but surely, it was nothing that they couldn't talk through, as sisters.

The moment Maria gingerly closed the door behind her, her younger sister could barely contain her racing heart and frantic breaths. Maria was fuming, so horribly angry with her for what she had done.

Madellaine frowned, her brows furrowing together in contemplation. What exactly _had_ she done to warrant her getting upset? Whatever it was, her older sister was furious.

Maria did not have to speak of her anger for Madellaine to see it. She was angry. Madellaine could see that quite plainly as she could see the nose on her own face whenever she looked in a mirror.

Her sister's eyes were filled with betrayal and anger, her brilliant sky-blue eyes that were just like hers brimming with a horrible antagonizing hurt that she didn't like at all. But surely, once Madellaine explained her situation, and how kind Quasi had been to her, such a good friend he was, she would understand and at least could respect Madellaine's reasons for staying.

It was the only way. She hoped her sister could understand and had faith that Maria would, but still, that did not mean this conversation was necessarily going to be an easy one to be had with her dear sister. Madellaine swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat as she looked towards her taller, older sister of five years.

Maria no doubt was going to yell at her, to scream at her for cohabiting with the likes of someone like Quasimodo, but she would have to remain firm and stand her ground on this matter. She liked the man, and she was not about to let further harm come to her friend, physical or emotional. She would defend him and her own life choices with her own life if it came to that.

The moment Maria turned away from her, her hands folded neatly behind her back, and looked instead out the window, Madellaine's heart sank to the pit of her churning stomach.

"Maria, before you get angry," she began slowly and cautiously, careful to mind her choice of words as she raised her hands in self-defense in case her sister struck her, "allow me to explain, please," she begged, wanting to placate her sister.

Madellaine expected Maria to interrupt her in mid-sentence, to yell at her, scream, rant, and rave and refuse to let her speak her piece, but her older sibling did no such thing, but she still refused to look at her. With her back still facing the young blonde, the woman with the raven-black pixie cut who harbored almost identical features to her younger sibling, save for her hair and her nose, refused to look at the girl. Madellaine drew in a breath and held it, the tension in her shoulders mounting.

Perhaps Maria was willing to listen to her reasoning, after all.

Madellaine breathed in a deep breath and continued.

"H—how did you find me?" she asked, her voice small, meek, and very nearly shaking, as she knew anything she said might only anger her sister more. " _How_ , Maria?"

"The Judge sent me a letter, told me you had taken residence here in the church after you deliberately defied and disobeyed him, sister," Maria answered simply, the edges of her voice hardened, clipped and hard, and when she finally turned around to face her younger sister, Madellaine shirked away as a muscle in Maria's jaw and behind her right eyelid gave a little twitch in pure ire.

Maria inhaled, but still refused to face her sister and look her in the eye. It seemed to take Madellaine's older sister ages to find her voice.

"How _could_ you?" she snarled in a voice that could almost be described as a growl. "That—that _thing_!" she hissed through gritted teeth, pointing a shaking finger towards the closed cloister door behind them. "I did not want to believe the contents of the Judge's letter to me, Lena, but look at you! You're _ruined_!"

Madellaine swallowed a lump in her throat. Her older sister had never looked so angry, not in all their years together had she ever seen Maria quite like this.

"He is kind, Maria. He's gentle. Sweet. Charming…" Her voice trailed off as she looked out behind Maria's shoulder and towards the window out at the streets of Paris, flinching at the smoke curling from the fires that burned in the distance but did not look away.

Maria's stunned silence was almost deafening and spoke volumes. "You _couldn't_ , be can you?" Maria asked in a dangerously quiet, low voice devoid of warmth that elicited a chill down Madellaine's spine. "Oh, but tell me is _not_ true, Lena, please say it!"

"Wh—what?" she stammered, her brows crumpling as she took a faltering step backward, having to lift the skirts of her ivory chemise and dark green overdress to avoid the heels of her brown leather boots snagging on them. Both girls shut their mouths and pointedly looked away for a moment while Madellaine struggled to form an apt response.

"He is a _monster_. A _demon_ sent from hell, and my sister, my sweet, only _sister_ , has fallen in _love_ with that—that accursed _wretch_!"

Madellaine immediately felt the color drain from her face, and almost instantly began to fret, feeling a cold sweat form on her brow as it beaded and dripped down the side of her temples as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers, her nails digging into the skin of both palms. She neither knew how to laugh nor condemn this thought.

Of course, she was not. It was not possible. She—she could not be in _love_ with Quasi, the man was her friend. And Parisian polite society would never approve of such a match.

Here, she bit her bottom lip and silently began to torment herself, much to her older sister's sinister delight as a smirk formed at the edges of Maria's lips, she folded her arms across her chest and furiously tapped her foot, waiting for Madellaine to elaborate.

"Wh—what?" Madellaine stammered, feigning innocence all the while struggling to contain the flushing her cheeks, how red they were becoming. "I'm not—i—in _love_ with him. The—the idea, is _ridiculous_!" The young blonde spat the words as if they were genuine, but the way her cheeks reddened and she actively refused to meet Maria's gaze, constantly looking for an exit from both this room and this conversation was telling to her older sister enough, speaking a different story entirely.

And there, she swore Maria's means of staring straight at her wasn't tethered on her current mood.

"Then don't start to. We're leaving." Maria huffed in frustration and turned on her heels to go.

Madellaine froze, feeling as though she had been doused with a bucket of ice water as she measured her older sister's words and the weighted gravity of her statement that nearly crushed her heart right there on the spot. She wasn't quite sure if she had heard Maria right, or if it was her older sister that had actually spoken the words.

The calm and serious manner with which her sister had spoken had left her probing and dormant, as Madellaine wracked her brain for something to say to her.

"Y—you must _listen_ to me, Maria!" Madellaine exclaimed, feeling her breaths becoming more frantic as Maria whirled on the heel of her boot and shoved her away, both hands pushing against her sister's chest when Madellaine tried to approach Maria from behind to put a hand on her shoulder, desperate to make her see reason. "I'm _not_ leaving here, I—I have a _life_ here in the cathedral now, friends that I've grown to care for!" She wasn't really hurt, but the fact that her own sister had lashed out at her and shoved her physically was unsettling, and even more so after the fact that Maria had first ensured the two girls were alone and in an enclosed space.

"I have no such obligation!" Maria all but screamed it at her as she shoved her younger sister again, only much harder this time.

Maria's sudden silence as she turned away ignited the fire that rose on Madellaine's head. It was not like her sister to have this morbid remark on Madellaine's preferences when it came to potential suitors.

When they were much younger, still girls with long hair before they had cut it off, Maria always had the most saccharine thoughts on her younger sister's choices, from tart flavors, to the color of their dresses, and to the dashing, handsome young knights, Prince Charming's, that would sweep them off their feet and give them a red rose or a handkerchief as a token of their affection.

She still remembered when Captain Phoebus himself (prior to their father's death and then a lieutenant) had come to call upon the pair of girls and how Maria fanned herself and feigning swoons when Ser Phoebus eased himself on his proud noble warhorse, Achilles.

Madellaine's face paled in anger and she gritted her teeth, balling her hands into fists at her sides. "You do not _know_ him," Madellaine heard herself speak of Quasimodo, who by this point, surely, was fretting over her and wondering if she was all right.

She hoped so, at the very least. Her tone was offended and laced to the brim with pure, utter hatred.

"You have only heard stories about him, Maria. Whatever nonsense Judge Frollo has spouted to you in his letter, of that I am sure. I know that. But you do not know him, what the poor man has been through…you have no right to speak of my friend in such odious terms, Maria..."

"Lena, _enough_!" Maria snapped, not in the mood to hear it.

Madellaine winced as she stumbled back a few paces. She was breathing even harder now as her blue eyes widened in shock to stare at her sister. At the darkened, flashing, pale blue cerulean blue orbs staring back at her, burning bright with smoldering, fathomless rancor that Madellaine knew that she was the root cause of. She nervously looked towards the room's door.

Surely someone out there could hear Maria's shouts. Would Sister Alice or the Archdeacon come to her aid if need be?

The door was exceptionally heavy, made of the finest oak, maybe even able to keep in sound…Maybe no one down here could hear them. And Maria had stated in front of Quasi and Sister Alice that she wished to speak to her alone in private. Would either one of them dare to interrupt her sister during a private conversation when she was already riled?

Oh, dear, she really was a stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learned. Madellaine felt her back press against the wall as far as it could. She had to try to de-escalate the situation before things got worse.

"I—I know you're angry, Maria," Madellaine spoke in as calm a tone as she could manage, which was increasingly difficult considering how much her voice warbled and shook, "but everything will be fine—"

But her older sister interrupted her by shoving her again, this time even harder than the last, hard enough that it caused a back muscle in Madellaine's spine to pull, knocking the very breath out of her lungs.

"Everything will **NOT** be fine! You have allowed that _creature_ , that _beast_ , to despoil you, to befoul you. You have _ruined_ our family name and any prospects for a future marriage and a husband for yourself, Lena!" Maria yelled, shoving Madellaine again just as the young blonde was regaining her equilibrium from the last harsh shove she'd been dealt.

"Maria, _stop_!" Madellaine urged frantically, attempting to escape her enraged older sister, but only succeeded in backing herself further into the corner as Maria advanced and stalked after her like a wild panther stalking its prey, her blue eyes flashing dangerous and deadly. "Listen! You do not know Quasi," she heard herself speak in a spiced tone and utterly offended. "You don't know the nightmares he was forced to see, to face growing up simply because he was born different, the fear and struggle. Quasi is my _friend_. The man saved my life. I'm _not_ leaving!"

"Madellaine, stop this, do you even _hear_ yourself? How _ridiculous_ you sound? Who would marry that wretch? You? What kind of life here in the church would he provide you? Any children you might sire with him would be _freaks_ , _monsters_ , just like their father. I won't have you _ruining_ your life!" Maria snapped, her face flushing red in anger, but the moment her older sister parted her lips to speak, Madellaine did not give Maria a chance to say her piece and interrupted, talking over her sister.

"No, _you_ stop it!" Madellaine's voice escalated and her throat hollowed the moment Maria reached out a hand, causing Madellaine to violently shirk away from her older sister's touch, afraid she'd hurt her. Madellaine could not explain the sudden need to be defensive and hurt towards her own sister, but she was not about to let anyone hurt Quasi, and the fact that her own flesh and blood had just spouted such a hurtful statement, was almost entirely too much for the blonde to bear.

"Oh, dear, I—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Maria croaked hoarsely, and without even waiting to be asked, wrapped her arms around her younger sister in a hug, hushing the young blonde, rocking her with arms draped protectively like a mother, and in a way, Madellaine supposed she was. "I—I did not mean to snap…"

Their mother had died at a young age, and when Papa passed, Maria was all she had, until her older sister had taken to Germany for work. Madellaine was shaking her head incredulously, even she herself was nursing shock at her own tantrum, the poisonous words that had spat out of her mouth like a black, putrid curse, and her only consolation was that Sister Alice, Quasi, and the Archdeacon weren't here to hear her.

There was still the slightest whiff of hope that any life she might be able to share with Quasi would not turn out to be a calamity, but instead, something that she could cherish and settle into with great ease.

She closed her eyes.

_I'm tired of running away. I'm tired of false hopes, of attempting to be something that other people want me to be_.

"Lena." Maria's voice was hardened, curt, and her older sister was the first to break their embrace and wiped Madellaine's face with the sleeves of her dark blue velvet gown laced with gold embroidery at the edges. "My dear sweet sister, if you truly think life in this cathedral is the best life that is offered to you now, you are sorely mistaken. You're a Barreau. You are well past marrying age, and you need to marry a man. Father and Mother would have wanted grandchildren, for our family legacy to carry on. You have got the opportunity to give a man several heirs..."

Madellaine's eyes were red at the rims and puffy too as her brows creased. "Is that _all_ women are valued for, sister? Our looks and ability to bear men children until we shrivel up and dry out in our old age, Maria?" she spat bitterly, and pointedly looked away from Maria.

She sighed in frustration, pinching at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, and glanced out the window.

"When I _do_ marry, _if_ I marry someday at all, Maria," she emphasized darkly under her breath, in a truly sour mood, "I…I want it to be for love," she whispered, a faraway, dreamy look causing her bright blue eyes to glaze over as she thought of Quasi. He truly was so kind to her and had asked her for very little throughout the course of their friendship these last two weeks. "The cathedral's bell ringer is not what people think him to be, Maria."

She emanated a tense exhale and cocked her head to the side when she noticed her sister about to open her mouth to retort in confusion. Her older sister's eyes were bright and earnest as the pale blue orbs met Madellaine's and desperately searched her younger sister's eyes for the truth. Maria nodded and swallowed.

Her older sibling glanced down at her hands and nervously twisted them together, weaving her fingers in between her white-boned knuckles. "Did he…did he ever…" Here, Maria wildly gesticulated with her hands, waving them about as a pink blush speckled along her cheeks as she tried to silently convey her point.

Now it was Madellaine's turn to blush. She quickly shook her head no as she reached up a shaking hand to brush a stray wisp of her blonde pixie cut back behind her ear where it rightfully stayed.

"H—he hasn't," she stammered, a fiery heat developing within the confines of her chest and her face, though she would be the first to admit that there was a part of her that wanted him to.

She felt she was ready for it. The love of a good man, marriage or not be damned, though she had a feeling if she were to ask if, of Quasi, he would insist on waiting until they were wed in the eyes of the Lord, wanting to do right by Madellaine, but…but…

They hadn't had that conversation. To the best of her ability, the man did not even know that she had grown to care for him in that way, he missed her little affectionate stares, the longing looks.

Sensing Maria was not at all satisfied with her answer, Madellaine drew in a breath and continued, sanguinely lifting her gaze to meet her sister. "He has a tragic past, from what little snippets Alice has told to me when I help the nuns in the kitchens prepare supper for the monks and the lay brothers and does not trust people so easily, but he likes me well enough. He is my _friend_."

"But my dear sister," protested Maria, frustration and anguish mounting in her voice as she promptly took hold of her younger sister's hands and gave them a squeeze. "This does not make any _sense_. Why would that monster single you out like this? Have you _done_ something, _said_ something to him to garner his attention? You _know_ that I love you, Lena, and think the world of you, you're my sister, but you must understand this sounds utterly preposterous! When I got the Judge's letter, I could think of only the worst! He did not hurt you during your time here? Has not…asked for things in return? Has he…" Maria demanded and was surprised to hear the girl sniff in disapproval as she looked away.

"You will _not_ refer to Quasimodo as a monster in my presence, Maria," she snapped, her temper swelling to the surface, both girls having inherited their fiery tempers from their father. "And if you should _ever_ want to see me again, you will start to treat Quasi with a semblance of respect, _sister_ , and start doing so right _now_ , or else I should walk out of this room and you will _never_ see me again," she snapped, pursing her lips into a thin line, glowering.

Madellaine felt her stomach clench. She had known this was the true fear that her older sister held buried deep within, and yet it seemed that no matter what she said, she failed to calm Maria down, simply because she was too afraid to admit that yes, she was right. Maria was right, _damn_ her now that she stopped to think.

Up to this point, she had been attempting to repress and deny her feelings for the man upstairs, but she could no longer, and the realization hit her like a block of ice.

She—she was in _love_ with the hunchback of Notre Dame de Paris, and there was not a damn thing either one could do about it!

"Did he hurt you?" Maria asked in a quiet, somber voice, thankfully, all traces of anger had fled from her voice, which was good. Madellaine blinked, startled at the sudden shift in Maria.

Her hands, Madellaine noticed, curled into fists by her sides as Maria moved to stand in front of her younger sister. "Did he?"

"N—no," Madellaine whispered hoarsely, though as her mind drifted towards a few moments ago up in the tower out on the balcony terrace prior to her sister's arrival when Quasi had confessed to her his feelings for Esmeralda, that he had cut her.

Sensing Maria's growing anger, Madellaine blanched and hurriedly moved to grip her older sister's hands, realizing she had to open Maria's eyes, it might be her only shot at making her sibling understanding why she felt the way that she did for Quasi.

"Oh, but not deliberately!" exclaimed Madellaine as she squeezed onto Maria's hands. "You will surely think very ill of me, but you must understand, sister, h—he…loves another," she said.

She swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat, hating hearing the faltering crack and dip in her tone. "I'm not it."

"It was foolish, Maria. I _know_ that b—but Quasi has been so kind to me, l—letting me stay with him in his tower, keeping him company while he works, keeping me from being lonely in this place." She sighed and looked around the desolate cloister cell. "I never feel out of place around the church's bell ringer, Maria. He treats me like an equal, like I am someone to be respected, cherished, a—and yet, h—he does not love me. He loves… _her_ …."

It hurt as hell to speak the truth to her older sister, and Madellaine ducked her head away so Maria wouldn't see the fresh bout of tears that gathered at the edges of her vision, spilling over.

"Lena?"

Madellaine hadn't realized she had been rambling, babbling like a blind, bloody fool, but she had taken hold of her warm, surprisingly comforting older sister's hands, and she realized the depths of her feelings for the redhaired bell ringer upstairs was far greater than what she had previously presumed of them to be now.

"My sister…." Maria murmured, which Madellaine reacted to with surprise as all hint of worry which had previously lined the twenty-five-year-old's face had disappeared, now replaced by something else. She looked…strangely wise. Just like their mother.

Madellaine frowned, not sure what to make of this change.

"Just like Mother…" She heard Maria whisper as her older sister shook her head before proceeding to give her shoulder a pat. "Do you trust him, this… _boy_?" Maria asked after a time. It did not escape Madellaine's attention she was actively trying to avoid the use of degrading terms such as monster or demon around her, which Madellaine was grateful that her words had rung true.

"Wh—what?" Madellaine blinked. Of all the reactions she had imagined her sister to have, considering how she had flown off the handle when she'd first set eyes upon Quasi's deformities, this had not admittedly been one of them. "Y—yes. With my life, sister."

Maria nodded, and though she did not look entirely pleased to hear her younger sister's confession, something within the older young woman shifted and Madellaine swore she saw Maria smile.

"The way I see it of that boy, Lena, if what you tell me of him is _true_ , then…I think that you must tell him the truth of your feelings. You need not wait, otherwise, then it might be too late. For as long as I can remember, even back home, you wanted more of life, something beyond the horizon of what Saint Paul de Vance could provide for you. Somehow, I knew it would come one day. You are so much like Mother, Lena, so I knew it was inevitable. You should stay true to what that little girl wanted, once upon a time. It is too late for someone like me, I know that, but it is not for you, a—and I…." Maria paused and looked away for a moment. "I just want you to be _happy_ ," she exhaled shakily, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting down a swell of nausea at the thought of her younger sister cohabitating and even siring children with that monster upstairs, but she forced herself to swallow down the bitter bile and continue.

And this was truer still. She _did_ want her sweet Lena to be happy.

Father and Mother would have wanted that for Madellaine, and if the accursed wretch in the tower was able to grant her that, then who was she, older sister or not, to stand in the way? She could see it now, just how truly much her sister cared for the creature.

Maria sighed, and it was then that Madellaine knew something was wrong. "Maria?" Madellaine confirmed. There was something her sister was keeping from her, and her eyes betrayed her. Maria de Barreau looked at her older sister intently, and when her next words fluttered, Madellaine was sure there was nothing laced in her sister's tone that even remotely resembled joy.

"Listen to me carefully, Lena," Maria shifted to come even nearer to her younger sister as though there were a thousand people listening in on their conversation though they were the only two souls in the empty cloister cell. "Would you truly be a fool to believe the Judge sent for me to fetch you without any reasoning?"

"Sent?" Madellaine furrowed her brows in confusion.

Maria nodded. "It's the perfect opportunity, as if God Himself had made it happen. It was a great burden lifted off the Judge's shoulders." As to reassure her younger sister, she reached out a hand and gave Madellaine's right shoulder a light, firm shake.

"Frollo?" Madellaine cut her off as her blood turned to ice within her veins. "All along you had been kept with Judge Frollo?"

Maria nodded, the brightness of her pale blue orbs dimming as the corners of her mouth twitched as the soft smile slid off her face without any kind of warning. "H—he saved my _life_ , Madellaine. When my husband was taken ill and died of the fever, I had nowhere to go, and the Judge was kind enough to send me to a family in Germany to work, thanks to the man's connections."

"He 'saved' you and threw me into his own pit with all those _monsters_?" Madellaine shouted, wincing as she thought of the soldiers under Captain Phoebus's command, their hungry, lustful eyes following her backside wherever she walked, and she flinched.

The air around the pair of sisters seemed too dense.

"Th—that was his plan all along?" Madellaine squeaked, clamping a hand over her mouth, her face turning an interesting shade of green, and suddenly, as her stomach churned and swooped as a coil in her gut twisted, she thought she'd be horribly sick. "I—I don't believe it," she whispered, swallowing down hard.

Maria de Barreau sighed heavily, sounding tired, as though her sister did not want to press the issue with Madellaine, and yet thought it imperative that she must. "Lena, I know it is difficult to take this all in right now…but I am here to rescue you, to take you away from Paris before the whole city burns to the ground," she said softly, and she crinkled her nose in disgust as visions of the horrible sight she had witnessed upon her carriage first entering into the city gates, seeing the fires, the blackened sky caused by the plumes of smoke, and she thought for certain her driver had taken a wrong turn somewhere, somehow, and had gotten them both lost. "Men await you at a different place altogether, just outside Paris."

"Stop this… _please_ …" Madellaine croaked hoarsely, a tear escaping from her lid. "I—I don't think I have the comprehension for this now," she managed to gasp out, clutching at her ribcage as she turned away, hoping her ribs weren't broken from where she had slammed into the wall when Maria had shoved her back, hard.

The young blonde took a faltering step backward and turned towards the door of the cloister, intent on leaving this cell and heading back upstairs to see Quasi at her first given opportunity.

The sour memories of her enduring those few hellish days in the Judge's employment, with the threat of being sent straight back to the gallows loomed over her head if she misbehaved, began to roll in her mind like a series of memoirs she'd rather soon forget.

Ones that she had survived and survived alone, all alone in a strange city that was not her home. And when she had all but given up hopes for rescue then it came crashing down like a tidal wave, and now, Madellaine was not so sure she wanted to be saved.

To go home with Maria would mean leaving _him_ behind. And abandoning Quasi when he had done so much for her was not something that Madellaine would willingly do. She turned on the heels of her boots and began to walk away, almost violently wrenching the closed heavy oak door of the cloister cell open so hard that the ancient thing rattled in its rusted hinges, leaving Maria unable to call out for her in defeat, leaving Maria alone again.

As Madellaine stomped, yes, quite literally stomped, her way up the north bell tower stairwell, clutching fistfuls of the skirts of her dress to avoid tripping over its long hem, she knew that she could no longer delay in telling Quasimodo the truth of her feelings for him. If Maria was so hellbent on bidding that she leaves with her, then…she could no longer wait. She was going to have to tell him.

That she loved him. And she was going to have do it tonight.

* * *

**A difficult conversation, indeed. The next chapter is a long-awaited favorite event of mine both in the movie and the play! Phoebus rescuing the Miller's family (or the brothel owner if you're going off the musicals, but for the sake of this being based on Disney mostly, minus my crushes on Felix Martin and David Jakobs as Frollo and Quasi, it's the Miller's family in the next chapter that gets rescued!) Stay tuned for more Phoebus/Esmeralda moments.**


	27. His Highest Honor

**Hi all, and welcome back! Not much to say, except this is one of my favorite moments in the Disney movie/the musicals, so I tweaked it a tad and hoped I did it justice!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: His Highest Honor**

* * *

**_CAPTAIN_ ** _Phoebus's face twisted to the side and the golden-haired soldier went numb. Phoebus de Chateaupers could hear the throbbing of his own chest, his sight blurring…with tears? Whatever was happening to him, it hurt like hell, yes._

_But then he raised his watery, tear-filled eyes to a pair of delicate footsteps that halted, and as he lifted his chin to stare at the new arrival, his heart soared. La Esmeralda stood before him, shrouded in a thick blue cape, though she looked as white as snow, and…afraid._

_Timid. Something was wrong. Her hair was ebony black, as dark as a raven's wing, and wild, her green eyes frozen orbs of moss, her lips pale velvet. The woman he was to marry almost resembled a corpse now as she stood afront him, staring in a bewildered way._

_A beautiful corpse, nonetheless. Phoebus felt his hand outstretch for hers, but before he could grasp Esmeralda's pale appendage in his, a horrible, ear-piercing scream rent the air._

_When Phoebus turned back around to look into Esmeralda's eyes, he wished he hadn't. Esmeralda was screaming as she burned, a fury of flames engulfing her, begged, pleading with Phoebus to help save her, until the begging stopped, and all she did was scream._

_And she burned..._

* * *

Phoebus jolted with a start, daydreaming of Esmeralda's fingers on his jaw and his lips on her forehead. And it was too good a dream, and yet a bad reality, for they were yet to be married, yes. He had been thinking of his betrothed more and more as the days passed, only able to visit with Esmeralda under cover of darkness, and in secret, though but he wished it were not that way.

Lately, his dreams of her were abstracts of insanity and unhealthy, dysfunctional urges that every thought, every vision of her was enough to send Captain Phoebus into a whirl of paradise.

The thought of marrying the woman of his dreams made Phoebus sigh whilst his teeth chattered in the surprisingly cold end of February air. Phoebus blinked, forcing himself back to reality. The air around the group of his soldiers and Judge Frollo, who sat proudly atop his black Friesian steed, Snowball, was a pungent smell of decay and hate, ash, smoke, fire…and execution.

And then Phoebus was reminded of why he was here. He was here to represent the upholding of the law, alongside Judge Frollo. He was standing in the midst of a field just on the outskirts of the city limits of Paris.

He blinked, and the smoke began to clear from his lungs, and then he remembered. The Miller's family was to be executed on suspicion of harboring Romani fugitives from being apprehended for illegally hiding Esmeralda, who now by order of King Louis himself, had a warrant out for her arrest, for being under suspicion of sorcery, witchcraft, and illegal entry into the city of Paris.

And there _he_ was, the miller, in the middle of the field, a burly man who Captain Phoebus himself had first set eyes upon.

The miller was an overweight man, but kindly enough, two decades older than Phoebus, with thin, almost greying hair, his eyes squinting and glaring at the Captain at the same time, a show of defiance against the Judge's orders. Laurent Barret stood without raising his head to Captain Phoebus once, but his eyes bore an inflexible hatred.

Pale blue orbs glowered back at the Captain, unwavering and quite brazen as he refused to look away from him. For a man who was about to die, he was surprisingly defiant. Unless the miller would bend the knee and offer up the secret of the whereabouts of either La Esmeralda or the location of the Court of Miracles, then the man would lose his head by one of his own men.

The ground beneath his feet would be bathed in his blood. A row of his own soldiers charged in after Captain Phoebus closed off the gap of space between himself and where Judge Frollo's stallion stood, whinnying and huffing in frustration, stomping its hooves repeatedly, wanting for nothing more than to be out of the cold and in a warm stable somewhere.

Frollo patted the horse affectionately but offered no verbal words of comfort to soothe the poor creature. The men's boots splattered the mud and surrounded the Miller and his family's perimeter.

Laurent Barret briefly glanced to the side, a hint of surprise marring his once impassive, pale face. Lieutenant Frederic had been standing in a solemn silence next to his captain edgily, the entire time, his patience dwindling with every minute that was wasted.

Almost _too_ eager to please the Judge in this position, Captain Phoebus thought, furrowing his brows in a worried frown.

He remembered how Madellaine had grimaced at the sight of the handsome, younger, dark-haired lieutenant, and he recollected that unspoken look exchanged between the fair-haired blonde lass and his second-in-command.

Frederic's face struggled to show compassion for the miller and his family. He looked on the guilty party, and even Captain Phoebus found himself at a loss for imagining what was privy in that head of de Marten's, and suddenly, not sure if he wanted to know, and forced his attention to return back towards Monsieur Barret, and he tried his hardest to ignore the man's only son, Darius, barely able to restrain his affianced, Sophia, the very same pretty brunette that scrubbed the pots in the kitchens back at the Palace of Justice, the same girl that had helped out Madellaine, by her waist as the young woman fought tooth and nail to escape.

Captain Phoebus emanated a tense exhale and shook his head to clear his mind, squeezing his eyes shut as he heard the Judge speak.

"By the power vested in me, Laurent Barret, for the last dire time, lest your only son _loses_ his beloved father, I demand your allegiance. You _will_ give me the location of that heathen gypsy girl."

Darius's father responded in kind by spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground, looking no worse for wear than he had before by the time a few of Frollo's other soldiers, the less than honorable types, had finished with the Miller following the burning of his home. "Why don't you hop off that horse of yours and break my knees yourself, Judge? Or do your soldiers do your dirty work, sire?"

The Judge made an odd, disapproving sniff. "The people always do the dirty work, Monsieur de Barret. Now. Yield to me…I know you know the location of the Court of Miracles. Tell me what you know, and your life may yet be spared, which is more than I can say for your home," he growled, no traces of warmth throughout his baritone voice as his gray eyes narrowed as he looked at the burning fire in front of him, at what was left of the miller's family's little house. Laurent Barret blearily lifted his gaze and focused his hazy vision through tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes.

" _No_. I will not yield, sire. I know of no gypsy girls or the location of their hideout. If it is today that I am to lose my head, then I would do so, with pride," he growled angrily.

The Judge pursed his lips into a thin line. "Aye. If that is your wish, Monsieur, then so be it." He snapped his spindly fingers and behind the Judge, two other of Captain Phoebus's men bounded forward one which held a great longsword which sent the miller's family, particularly his son, Darius, and his intended, Sophia, into near hysterics, and another soldier, who placed with a less-than-graceful thud, the ironwood stump that served as the platform.

Captain Phoebus felt Frederic de Marten stiffen involuntarily beside him as the Judge gave a curt motion with a jerk of his head towards Lieutenant Frederic for the younger dark-haired soldier to come force and force Laurent de Barret's head down onto the stump, the miller's face splotched red with crimson, glowering at the judge, even in the face of death, mouth filled with blood and spit.

Lieutenant Frederic glanced towards Phoebus out of the corner of his eye towards his superior for confirmation, but the Captain froze. He watched the face of a man who knew his life was about to end. There was courage, aye, and every bit of his pride that Laurent Barret held left within himself, but there was fear, too.

"Come here, boy," growled the Judge from atop his stallion as the horse attempted to whisk away at the sound of steel kissing away its scabbard as the Judge drew his own sword from its sheath. The older man snapped his fingers again and another pair of Phoebus's soldiers dragged the miller's only son, twenty-four-year-old Darius Barret, towards the stump where his father lay to face the inquest and judgment for his so-called 'crime' of harboring Romani fugitives, if the rumors were indeed true, from his soldiers.

The young man struggled between the two soldiers, his bright blue eyes burning bright with a smoldering, fathomless rage, and desperate tears as he shot a pleading glance towards Phoebus.

Phoebus looked towards Darius, a fine young man, who would have made a fine soldier to his ranks if he were not apprenticing with his own father, though now that their home was naught but a pile of ashes, the boy's future and that of his intended, here, he glanced towards Sophia, Madellaine's friend, who worked in the kitchens in the Palace of Justice, became uncertain, now.

"Lieutenant Frederic, a moment. Your father is a traitor, Monsieur Darius. Be a man and do the honors of relieving the world of one less witless _worm_. Give it to him," came the Judge's droll baritone, his listless voice sounding bored, though it sent a chill down both his and Lieutenant Frederic's spines as the pair of soldiers looked to the Judge.

 _He_ _can't_ …. Phoebus thought… but Lieutenant Frederic forcefully faced Barret tearing up from his spot on the stump.

When the miller's son shook his head wildly, the older man tried to raise his voice in order to be heard over Sophia and Darius's collective screams. "Son…do it. It's okay. You must do it, or they will kill you and your Sophia!"

And at that, Captain Phoebus, for the first time in his life, cowered. His very soul felt for this young man. None of the other soldiers among him knew what it meant of the devastation that crushed his soul, turning his heart to ashes. To hold the weapon and mutilate a body of your own flesh and blood.

To hear their dying screams and have it be trapped and replayed in your mind like a ballad on sober nights when not even copious amounts of wine and ale would dull the pain of so much red on your ledger, he knew. But God, the boy did not know what that was like. Darius Barret did not know how this one act would wreck his psyche and mold him into an even viler monster that he would grow to resent.

And then there was a horrible, fatigued ringing in his ears and in his head was a dissonance of tolling death bells, though Phoebus briefly glanced towards the illustrious, towering structure of Notre Dame de Paris in the distance, knowing that to be no phantasm of his own mind. The boy that lived in the towers was ringing for Vespers right about now. He couldn't let this happen, not in his life.

" **STOP**!" he commanded, the moment Darius Barret held the hilt high over his father's head, tears streaming down his pale cheeks, unrelenting, endless. "Put it down, Barret."

The greatsword hung up in the air, and the turmoil among the miller's wife and Sophia Damas, Darius Barret's intended and Madellaine's friend, died at the dense order. Only Judge Frollo's black Friesian stallion, Snowball's breathing, was left audible, as was the start of the rain that had begun and would put out the rest of the fire that was burning, though there was no saving the damage to the Barret family's now non-existent home, sadly.

Claude Frollo's head whiplashed sharply to the left, trying to see unto Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers to ensure the voice that the Judge had heard was truly commanded by his own Captain of the Cathedral Guard and of the King's Archers. "Captain Phoebus? Did you not hear me? You would _dare_ to disobey a direct order? What is the meaning of this?" Claude growled angrily.

Phoebus swallowed nervously, not sure where the strength to rebel against Judge Frollo's orders came from, but he was not about to partake in the murder of innocents.

"Lower the weapon, boy," he barked in a hoarse voice towards Darius, who was quick to obey the golden-haired captain's command, and the great sword fell to the ground with a loud clatter as he quickly helped his broken, battered, beaten father to his feet. Phoebus grimaced as Darius, alongside his father, Sophia, and the rest of his family fled, not bothering to look behind them to see the outcome of Captain Phoebus' bravery. _Smart boy_ , he thought bitterly, before turning back towards the Judge, towering above him on horseback as Claude spurned his horse forward with a kick to its sides harshly. "Consider this my resignation and my highest honor, sir," he growled, Phoebus's teeth chattering as one of the soldiers shoved him violently to his knees, kicking him in the back of his shins.

He could feel his heartbeats break his throat, lightning bolts tingling at the edges of his fingertips as the great sword was raised towards his own head now, which he attempted to hide beneath leather gloves. If he was to die now at the hands of one of his own men on Judge Frollo's orders, then he would let it be known that he died protecting the miller and his boy.

Phoebus glanced towards Lieutenant Frederic. If the younger boy huddled any kind of surprise on his handsome face, his second-in-command was good at hiding it. He was a Chateaupers, and the men in their family never turned away from execution, even that of your own.

"To save them was my highest honor, sir," he growled one last time.

The Judge merely proceeded to glower at Phoebus with what the captain could only describe in his final moments as an immense disappointment.

"Very well, Captain. You throw away a promising career, and all for that gypsy witch. She's bewitched you too, you need not explain yourself to me. I see enough. It's in your eyes, Captain. It is. And I have no need for a soldier under my command who disobeys my orders. It's a pity." Here, he turned towards Lieutenant Frederic and narrowed his eyes.

Frederic, Phoebus noticed, like a good soldier, stood at attention, his face utterly impassive, though the now-former Captain of the King's Archers swore he caught the briefest glimpses of a shadow of fear and regret flit across the handsome, younger, dark-haired lieutenant's face as Claude Frollo spoke.

"Lieutenant de Marten, I do congratulate you on your new promotion to captain of the cathedral guard. _Kill_ him…"

* * *

Ash wafted through the stuffy air, suffocating and pressing down hard, making it difficult for Esmeralda, wrapped in a thick dark blue cape, to breathe, though she fought down the urge to cough, lest it give away her position, hiding amongst the other witnesses. Esmeralda could feel droplets of sweat forming along her brow as she peered out from over the draping hood of her cloak, overly large on purpose, meant to conceal her features. Frollo had sent the entire city into a manhunt.

Because of _her_ … the thought made her skin crawl, though she forced herself to pay attention in front of her, instead.

The sweltering heat of the flames that were slowly dying down, thanks to the rainfall above was still overwhelming, to say the very least, though the heat currently surging through Esmeralda's veins was not, however, causation of the fire, but of panic.

In front of her as she inched her way carefully through the crowd of witnesses for a better look, knelt her affianced himself, the Sun God, Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, restrained by one of his own comrades whilst another position a sword over the exposed, vulnerable pale column of the man's throat. Esmeralda reeled backward in shock, her heart pounding against its chest as she thought for certain her eyes were playing a sport of her mind.

This could _not_ be happening. The very man who had returned for her, looked for her for the better part of three weeks, was now to be sentenced to death for refusing to carry out an order. He had refused to murder the miller's family, of which they had committed no crime, and now, for the man's brave, yet humble heroics, Frollo was to put him to death?!

Esmeralda bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to bleed as she squeezed her eyes shut. She could not allow the man she was to marry to die. She _would_ not. _Could_ not allow it!

The soldier that was kneeling over Captain Phoebus swung the great sword upwards right at the same moment, thinking fast on her feet in an effort to save the man's life, Esmeralda stooped down and snatched up a stone in hand.

She tore off her silk purple headscarf to tuck the stone securely inside, flinging her wrist back, and with one swift movement, the stone flew from Esmeralda's grasp, spinning effortlessly through the air and striking the hulking monstrous beast of a horse that was Judge Frollo's horse in the rump.

The effect was instantaneous as the horse reared upwards, neighing in agitation, its nostrils flaring in pain and fear, bucking the Judge from its saddle.

Esmeralda resisted the urge to grin at her small victory as chaos ensued and the distraction she had just created provided enough of an opening for the soldier boy to make his escape, wrenching himself out of the grip of the soldier currently clutching onto his arm before twisting slightly at the waist, hefting back his arm and punching his own lieutenant squarely in the nose, all the while shooting Lieutenant Frederic an apologetic look with burning hazel eyes.

His movements almost too fluid and quick for Esmeralda to catch as they were impossibly fast, the man was a blur of yellow and blue and white, the former Captain launched himself forward with as much strength as he could muster, grabbing firm onto the saddle of Frollo's spooked black Friesian.

Esmeralda's eyes followed the movement of the Captain as the man spurned the animal forward, the heels of his boots digging into the beast's sides, racing away from the scene of his would-be-execution and towards the stone bridge that extended over the River Seine and led to the town square.

 _Where_ Phoebus thought he was going, Esmeralda didn't know, but the movement was enough to cause the small crowd that had gathered near the miller's home to cheer at the golden-haired man's victory, but it wasn't enough.

 _No, no, no, no_! she screamed inwardly, throttling her urge to cry out as she heard Frollo's baritone voice cut through the cries of the villagers, ordering his archers to reign down a shower of arrows upon Captain Phoebus.

"Get him! _Kill him_! And don't even _think_ about hitting my horse!"

 _Damn it_ , she swore to herself as her head whiplashed sharply back towards the miller's home. Or more accurately, in this case, what was left. Her heart gave a jolt of fear as Frollo stood, fuming, seething, and disheveled from his horse throwing him to the ground and caught off his guard.

The dozen or so soldiers that had been accompanying the Judge to the scene of the suspected crime did as they were instructed, good soldiers, just following the orders of their commander and raised their loaded crossbows.

They fired. The rain of arrows that followed Phoebus in his botched escape attempt on Frollo's own horse followed the Sun God close behind him.

For a brief moment, it looked as though he had finally gotten out of striking range of the arrows. At least, until one struck his back left shoulder.

" _No_ ," she whispered hoarsely, tears filling at the lids of her eyes, ducking her head, watching, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach as her Sun God jerked backward, recoiling in pain, the sharp movement jolting him from the saddle of Frollo's horse and the stricken man fell over the bridge's side and into the murky, disgusting waters of the River Seine below Phoebus.

 _No, no, no, no_! Esmeralda screamed to herself as she heard the onlookers around her cry out in dismay as her eardrums caught the sound of a loud splash from the river's surface as the captain tumbled to his watery grave.

Forgoing for the moment the necessity of keeping her appearance hidden, Esmeralda shrugged out of her thick blue cape as the raven-haired woman shoved her way through the throng of villagers, not bothering to mind her manners, darting alongside a thick grove of trees for cover that lined the hill that sloped down towards the edge of the riverbank of the River Seine.

It wasn't much but just enough to provide adequate cover to avoid being detected. High above her head, Judge Frollo and the rest of his soldiers leaned over the edge of the stone bridge, seemingly satisfied with the traitor's fall to his death.

"Don't waste your arrows, men! Let the traitor rot in his watery grave. It's no less than he deserves. Find the gypsy girl, Captain de Marten! If you have to _burn_ the entire city to the _ground_ , then so be it, sir!"

Esmeralda's blood ran cold in her veins as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and gritted her teeth together in a blind fury at this man's behavior. That such a wicked man could possibly exist, one who did not hesitate to justify this death and destruction to satiate his own lustful, selfish urges.

Esmeralda was not sure she could even begin to comprehend, though as Frollo and the other soldiers traveled over the stone bridge and disappeared from her line of sight, Esmeralda's eyes flung open as she forced herself to clear her mind of unhelpful thoughts of the Judge for now.

She would deal with it later. There were more important things to worry about now, such as saving her fiancé from drowning to death and bleeding out from a wounded shoulder.

Kicking off her boots and scrambling down the muddy embankment, not minding the mud, dirt, and grit that dirtied the hem of her chemise and overdress, Esmeralda took in a few deep gulps of air, as much oxygen as her lungs would possibly allow, and then, without thinking, dove into the Seine.

The darkness and icy coldness of the dirty waters of the River Seine rendered Esmeralda breathless. The disgusting water closed in around her, filling the young woman with a sense of panic and deep dread. Esmeralda held her breath for as long as she possibly could, and it took the girl a moment to force her limbs to move to head towards the bottom to try to save Phoebus.

Red splotches danced in front of Esmeralda's watery, blurry vision and she could not remember if her eyes were closed or open at all, as the coldness she had felt upon entering the river's water was now completely gone.

A desperate hot wave came over her, warming even her frosted toes. Esmeralda's heart was beating rapidly in a panic, the urgency for air more urgent than ever, and hopelessness began to rise within her, and not just at her drowning—

 _There_! Esmeralda started to swim downward the moment she saw a trail of blood oozing from Phoebus's shoulder, floating up into the currents of the Seine in thick, garish, crimson clouds. Her lungs were beginning to burn for air, but Esmeralda could not leave him down here to drown and bleed out.

Esmeralda's brain was now in full panic mode, there were no coordinated movements as she struggled to reach Phoebus, just clawing through the thick murky water in a vain effort to reaching the drowning man.

Already her thoughts were groggy, and that was when she saw him. Phoebus swimming upward from the bottom of the lake beneath the icy depths of the River Seine, but she knew it was not to save himself from drowning, but her.

But it couldn't be. He was _injured_ , passed out from blood loss. It _had_ to be a vision, one that her mind had created to ease the painful death of drowning so horribly and unexpected like this, but it seemed so… _real_. Even if she were to die like this, she knew that her soldier boy was no God, much as he would like to be given what the literal meaning of Phoebus's name supposedly meant.

She briefly wondered if Phoebus were tasked with lighting the way to Heaven as the man, seeping hole in his arm aside, swam towards Esmeralda.

But then her soldier boy seemed to pause, eyeing Esmeralda completely submerged in the murky waters of the River Seine much like a curious dog would look at, as if she were something that he wasn't sure if he could trust or not.

A brilliant shade of hazel met Esmeralda's fading gaze, and his wrist shot forward and grabbed onto hers, and slowly, the pair of them swam together up towards the nightlife above, back towards their harsh reality, and her body shook so violently on the edge of the riverbank as Phoebus weakly pulled Esmeralda out of the frozen River Seine before collapsing, the last of his strength failing him as his knees buckled beneath him.

Her stomach contracted so violently that she didn't even give a damn if Phoebus was still conscious and alert and watching her as she retched up the water that had only moments ago been filling her own lungs and threatened to drown her.

Her lungs drank in the freezing air in noisy rasps again and Phoebus's voice cut through the sound of the wind tousling their hair off their faces, and Esmeralda shivered, reaching for her cloak to drape it over him.

" _No_ ," he managed in a faint, weak voice, coughing, turning to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood. "Y—you're s—soaked, E—Esmeralda…"

"Shh," Esmeralda shushed, kneeling into a crouch, and positioning her hands behind the captain's back, gritting her teeth, and grunting with the effort to help him stand, albeit rather shakily to his feet. "You're _hurt_ , Phoebus. Don't try to speak, save your strength. I—I will need your help to walk, I'm afraid I'm not strong enough on my own to help you, my love," she murmured. "I need to take you someplace safe. Someplace where no one will think to look for you, but where can we go, nowhere is safe…" she muttered quietly.

A startled yelp coming from down the hillside caused Esmeralda's ears to perk up and she whirled around on her heel as best as she could as she kept one hand planted firmly on the small of Phoebus's back, his injured arm draped over her shoulder as gently as she could possibly manage.

"Captain!" called out a man's voice, a young man's, and as Esmeralda squinted, narrowing her eyes, struggling to see through the thick plumes and haze of smoke that clouded the air as the pair struggled to make their way up the hillside, she breathed in an audible sigh of relief as Darius Barret, the handsome young miller's son, and his intended, Sophia, practically stumbled down the hill and tripping over themselves in an effort to reach the soldier and the Romani girl.

"H—he—s—saved…Darius's father's life, we...saw him...fall, we want to help," gasped the young brunette, heaving to catch her breath and clutching at her left ribcage in agony, panting heavily from exhaustion at having run back all this way to help their savior. "Oh, my _God_ ," Sophia exclaimed violently at the sight of so much blood, her face paling and turning a rather interesting shade of bright green.

Esmeralda silently shot the dark-haired, blue-eyed man a look of gratitude as the miller's son bounded forward and took Phoebus's stumbling form from Esmeralda, supporting the majority of his weight by draping his other arm over his right shoulder, with his fiancée, Sophia, rushing to his side.

For a moment, Esmeralda stood rooted to her spot as Darius Barret gingerly lifted his arm and allowed Esmeralda to duck out from beneath them, feeling like she had never quite felt like a stranger in the city of Paris before until now, thinking that now was the first time since coming to Paris a few months ago that she felt as though she did not belong like she did not understand.

Knowing that she was the cause of Phoebus's injury did not help assuage her guilt in the slightest, either, and a coil in her gut twisted.

As Darius limped forward with Sophia's help, both of them supporting the ex-military captain, Esmeralda felt no gasp escape her mouth, but rather, a soundless sense of an icy coldness wafted its way up and down her body, her heart, which that damned stubborn throbbing corded muscle had very nearly just now come to a standstill upon seeing Phoebus's tunic drenched in blood, once Darius and Sophia had stripped the golden-haired Sun God of his armor.

Esmeralda felt her face drain of colors, thinking that surely by now, her face was as white as a sheet, and as the four of them reached the top of the hillside, she finally found her voice again.

"I—it's his left arm. The captain was pierced by an arrow attempting to flee. I don't know if you saw it. H—he needs medical attention immediately and a place to heal or he's going to die." Her voice cracked and broke at the last word as she swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat at the sight of the garish, sticky life force now draining the man's ivory tunic. "The blood, there's so much _blood_ ," she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head before turning to look towards Paris.

"Where can we take him?" the young brunette called Sophia piped up nervously, biting her bottom lip and grunting with the effort to bear her half of Phoebus's weight as she helped her lover to escort him to a designated place of safety of Esmeralda's choosing, as she was the one who knew Phoebus best.

"Somewhere safe," Esmeralda whispered hoarsely, surprised and amazed she could even find her voice at all, considering how weak it sounded.

"The _entire_ city's looking for you, wench. There _is_ no such thing as a safe place, not in Paris, anymore, mademoiselle," Darius Barret answered in a hardened tone, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked towards the church.

Esmeralda's inquisitive, piercing eyes of green followed the miller's son's blue eyes and they came to rest upon the towering structure of Notre Dame, and she barely stifled a small smile of hope that tugged at the corners of her lips as the sound of the familiar distant proud iron and brass bells clanged together and rung across the Seine, throughout the city of Paris.

A light sparked in Esmeralda's green eyes as she shifted her attention to the cathedral.

"I know of a place, a safe place that we can take him, and I thank you both for your help," she murmured in what she hoped was a grateful tone.

The girl, Sophia, inclined her head, a dark curl tumbling in front of her head as she did so as she shot Esmeralda a kind smile, her dark brown eyes twinkling slightly as the young brunette gave Esmeralda a look that told the Romani that she did not need to thank them.

"He saved Darius's father. It is the least we can do to help him. So, then, where are we to take him? Where?"

It seemed to take Esmeralda an eternity to find her voice, and when she did speak, her voice was so low that both Darius and Sophia had to lean forward to hear her faint voice, as her words were practically like the wind.

"Notre Dame." She turned towards her newfound help and Phoebus's fading figure draped rather awkwardly over the arms of Darius and Sophia. "We're going to take him to Notre Dame," Esmeralda answered resolutely.

She could only hope that what she was doing was not a mistake…


	28. An Unexpected Visitor

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: An Unexpected Visitor**

**THE** dark skies above Notre Dame's highest point reeled with ravens as the fires ravaged their way through the streets of his city as the call of the massive iron bells of Notre Dame cathedral broken the deepening evening, and the setting sun splintered colors from the multi-colored stained glass windows of the church.

Though this sight was nothing compared to the fires raging a war on the city of Paris, all efforts of Master Frollo's manhunt.

Quasi stood watching the skittering and rustling with a great sense of unease in his broad chest, the movements of the birds among the dark silhouettes of the clouds little more than a faint silhouette against the blackness of the encroaching night as the manhunt raged on in Frollo's desperate, wild search for Esmeralda.

Everything was chaos, and worry, against his mind processing Madellaine's words from earlier, wormed its way into his stomach. In all the madness, no one, save for perhaps Madellaine and his gargoyles, had thought to spare a thought for him, and Quasi stiffened and shifted at the waist as he heard the soft susurration of Madellaine's footfalls as she moved to join him at the ledge of balcony's balustrade to look out at the blazing city.

The City of Lovers was quite _literally_ on fire, and Quasi was helpless to do a thing to stop it.

If only he could assuage Master to cease this madness, then the fires and chaos would stop, though Master listening to him was about as likely as Quasimodo leaving the bell towers of his sanctuary for a second time. The man knew this, and he would be a fool to hope for anything less than that.

_God, Master, what have you done_? Quasi's mouth tightened as the young blonde former hearth keep of Master Frollo's moved to stand so close to him that their shoulders accidentally brushed.

He felt his cobalt blue eyes widen in shock as Madellaine's hand moved so that her pinky was touching his, and it seemed a moment before she spoke, and when she did, he was surprised when the young blonde moved to cover his gloved hand with hers.

"Oh, what can be going on down there?" he despaired, biting the wall of his cheek as he leaned forward over the railing, much to Madellaine's growing discomfort. "It's not looking at all good!"

Madellaine too, he noticed, was looking worried, though she was much better at hiding her dismay than Quasimodo was, for when she spoke, there was a hint of steel laced throughout her voice.

"You must have _faith_ , my friend. Esmeralda is going to be just _fine_. She is a strong woman. She's lived her whole life on the streets. If anyone can outmaneuver Frollo's soldiers, Esme can."

Quasi nodded, his breath stemming in his throat as his fingers curled, winding themselves tightly over the rail for support.

The day had been short, the nights now were shorter still, the air full of chill, though maybe that was because he wasn't sleeping. His mouth twisted into a grotesque-looking sneer that caused the young blonde to recoil at the look of despair on his face.

"But what if she _isn't_?" he asked hoarsely, slowly swiveling his gaze to look at Madellaine, suddenly blushing under the intensity of his gaze, and not at all sure where his sudden nervousness was stemming from. "What if Master has caught her?"

"Then we can save her," Madellaine answered quietly. "She is our friend, Quasimodo. She would do the same for us were we in a bind. I know that Esmeralda would," she answered with conviction, though the strength of her words did not meet her eyes.

Aye, but only if it were that simple. Madellaine knew not of the struggles he faced daily, trapped up here, at the top of the world.

"I—I _can't_ ," he answered hoarsely, running a hand through his mop of fiery red hair, a fiery heat creeping to his cheeks as he pointedly turned his head away from the young blonde's piercing icy stare, feeling as though her glacier blue eyes were burning a hole in the back of his skull right now. "Y—you saw how the people reacted to me a few weeks ago, Madellaine," he explained, a soft, sad smile causing the corners of his mouth to twitch upward in a pained grimace. "To go out there, they _won't_ take kindly to me."

"Only if you choose to _let_ them," Madellaine fired back immediately, furrowing her brows, and raising them in a challenging manner at her friend, as her lips pursed in a thin line.

She did not look at all pleased with Quasimodo's initial resistance to wanting to leave his sanctuary to save Esmeralda in the even that the Romani woman was in trouble, but she did not understand, and Quasi needed to make sure Madellaine knew this.

"So, what do you suggest? Hmm? When the _mobs_ come after me with their ropes and their knives, tell them they have it wrong about me? That I'm a _kind_ , hideous _monster_? You _saw_ the way the people looked at me. They hate me. They wouldn't respect me."

Anger rose as heat within Madellaine's chest, and she stomped her foot, her hands on her hips, a temporary release of her frustrations. Why did he always seem to hold such a low opinion of himself?

And then it hit her, squarely as though a knight had thrust a lance deep into her breast and Madellaine stumbled backward, and would have fallen over the hem of her green silk gown, a thing of beauty and borrowed from Sister Alice for warmth when Quasi's arm shot out and caught her forearm to prevent her from falling.

He worried for himself. Not for Esmeralda.

"But this isn't about you, Quasimodo!" Madellaine protested. "I don't _blame_ you for being afraid, I _understand_. I _get_ it, but you cannot stay like this. Halfway between one life and the other," she begged, biting down her bottom lip and sticking it out in a slight pout as she huffed in indignation, desperate to make him see the truth. "If Esmeralda really _is_ in danger, then we have to find her, and I cannot just stay up here and wait for ill news of our friend!" she cried, blinking back the beginnings of salty, briny tears. "You can either stay up here in these stone walls forever, healing from all the hurts, everything wrong in your life that has been done to you. But you are sad, angry, broken, and lonely, Quasimodo, but you don't have to be," Madellaine urged, giving his hand a squeeze.

Quasimodo did not know what to say to that, and he could only glance down at Madellaine's gentle hand over the top of his. The skin of her hand was smooth, bone-white, and perfect. Not at all rough and calloused and cracked as his were. He stared at her fingers as though he found the digits the most beautiful thing of all.

He himself, though he believed in God and His angels, was not sure that such a concept as redemption for his parents' wickedness and sin existed for a creature, a monster, such as him.

Everything in his life seemed to pile up, one sin after another, according to Frollo, the darkness of night his only comfort.

For a monster like him deserved and belonged in the shadows, his nights full of nightmare and demons, not including the monsters of stone that were his gargoyle companions.

Madellaine continued speaking, the sweet quiet tones of her voice pulling Quasimodo from his dark swirling vortex of thoughts.

"I know that you don't _want_ my pity, my friend," the young blonde former hearth keep said, at last, glancing down at her hands as she nervously fidgeted with her fingers, biting her lip, "but I do not know if I have ever met a man that I grieve for more than you."

His eyes grew even wider as he reeled backward, his hands gripping onto the edges of the balustrade for support. She…she _grieved_ …for a monster like _him_? But _how_? And whatever for?!

Quasi blinked owlishly as tears began to well up out of the edges of the young blonde's lids and her body convulsed and reacted of its own accord, and before he had a moment to react, she had thrown himself at him, bounding forward on the heels of her boots and throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his right shoulder.

Her shoulders shook with the immense feelings of anger, frustration, pain, love, jealousy, remorse as her emotions broiled over the surface and the girl showed her cracks, and she was barely held together at the seams.

Tears fell freely down her cheeks, soaking through the bell ringer's thick green woolen tunic and drenching the material as she cried. This was admittedly the first time he'd held a crying woman.

And he was not sure at all what to do. Madellaine de Barreau was a young woman of misfortunate circumstances, who was like him in many ways, lonely, frightened, with the two of them becoming fringe friends by default because no one else would have them. Or at least, that's what Madellaine claimed when she visited.

Whether or not he believed that, he did not know. With her beauty and unfailing kindness and gentle personality, he felt confident that Madellaine would get along with almost anyone.

All thoughts aside, Quasi forced his attentions to return to the young blonde who had rather unceremoniously flung herself at him out here on the balcony. "What is it that you know?" he urged.

His strong hand wound itself over her shoulder as reassuringly as he could possibly manage. It was foreign to the desolate, isolated bell ringer and not at all natural for poor Quasi, and yet, it was the best he could think of. He would remain here with her until Madellaine's tears were spent because she was his friend.

For Madellaine had been one alongside Esmeralda to stand alongside him when the rest of the Parisians had shot him immense looks of disgust at the Feast of Fools. She was the one to shoot him bright white reassuring smiles of trust and friendship that at times, caused an intense tingling sensation and warmth to spiral in his chest whenever he was around the blonde. She was a ray of sunshine, and Quasi wished he could bottle Madellaine's warmth.

Madellaine pulled back slightly in the bell ringer's strong embrace, hesitating.

"I—I did not mean to…." She stammered, her already pale face becoming ashen as beads of sweat formed on her brow. But Quasi did not relinquish his grip on the girl from his arms. He could not quite explain it, but he felt as if he needed to hold her, too. Eventually, she calmed her emotions enough to the point where her tears ceased to roll down her cheeks and a scattered still escaped its way past her lips. "I worry about her, too." She quickly wiped away the tears from her face with the overly long sleeve of her dress, his familiar scent of pinewood from the wood he used for his carvings, and the smell of bell polish calming her. "I hate that we have to stay up here and do nothing."

The bitterness that had seeped its way unbidden to the surface was unmistakable, and her voice came out broken, distraught. "My sister wishes for me to leave Paris with her," she said quietly, her fingers curling tightly as she seized fistfuls of Quasi's green woolen tunic. She shook her head wildly as if to clear her mind, ignoring Quasi's crestfallen look as his shoulders slumped. "But I can't. Not until I…I know that Esmeralda is safe."

A surge in disappointment flared in his wretched veins, causing Quasimodo's fingers to curl in frustration and ire as his mind processed Was God really so cruel to him, as to allow Fate to take away his other one true friend in his otherwise mundane and miserable existence along with Esmeralda from him after such a short time?

It was Madellaine's unwavering trust and belief in his character that touched Notre Dame's bell ringer deeply, and though he could not explain it, Quasi felt a sense of duty to watch over the petite blonde because of it. She was his friend because she wanted it. She needed no reason, other than she seemed to want to be that for him.

While Quasi was still struggling to formulate an apt response in his mind to Madellaine's unexpected announcement, the young blonde did not give him a chance as she reached up a tender hand and brushed away that one stubborn lock of his bangs that never failed to get in the way of his line of sight of his good eye.

"I'm staying," she whispered in a voice so small and faint, he thought at first, Madellaine had not spoken to Quasi at all just now.

_Oh, god_.

"Madellaine, no," he beseeched her, unable to keep the desperation from creeping its way into his soft, tenor-like tone. "If it means that you would be safer with your sister, then you must go," he urged, doing his best to tamper down the lump in his throat.

Madellaine gave him a stubborn look that suggested she was going to do no such thing. "I claimed sanctuary here, my friend. Maria cannot forcefully remove me from the church's walls, and…"

Her voice trailed off as she turned her head and gaze outward to look across the landscape of the burning streets of Paris.

"I want to know that she's safe. That they're _both_ safe," she emphasized in a hushed tone, a cold sweat trickling down her nose.

Now, Quasi was confused. " 'They?'" he asked, suddenly not sure if he wanted to know the answer as the blonde turned to look at him with an incredulous look in her bright blue eyes as if the bell ringer had sprouted antlers as the girl's lips parted slightly in awe.

"Esmeralda and Phoebus?" Madellaine prodded gently, astonished as to how Quasi could have disregarded the soldier boy.

Quasi winced. As it turned out, he had been hoping to forget the mention, not to mention the visual image, of Phoebus de Chateaupers. He felt his body stiffen involuntarily as understanding hit in a sickening revelation at the look on her face.

She _cared_ for him. For _Phoebus_. _Damn him to hell_ , he thought angrily, not even bothering to send a silent prayer to God's angels for forgiveness for swearing on top of a holy House of God.

"You spoke with him?" His words escaped his chest and lips as a low, vibrating growl, his normally kind and quiet tone now gruff and dismissive, as he gave his fiery mop of red hair a violent shake, trying in vain to rid himself of the unpleasant visual images of the golden-haired Sun God romancing and wooing _his_ friend.

"Yes," Madellaine answered, nodding diligently. "Captain Phoebus is a _friend_ , Quasimodo," she murmured, surprised at the shift in the bell ringer's countenance and thinking his voice now sounded rough and coarse and sharp, a complete contrast to his previously quiet and thoughtful state only a few moments before.

Quasi felt his eyes widen as dawning horror wormed its way to the pit of his already churning stomach and he thought he might be sick. He merely grunted wordlessly to the young blonde before once again finding his voice. "I would advise you to stay away from him, Madellaine. I _know_ his type. His type is quite the ladies' man."

Upon hearing her friend's accusatory statement, Madellaine lifted her eyebrows with sarcasm, though she could not think of anything in response to the man's obviously jealous statement.

Though whether or not Quasi was aware of how he sounded, only the man himself knew for sure, and she was not about to goad him further into responding when he was already in a sour mood.

The bell ringer stole a glance towards Madellaine, and, judging by the way Quasi pointedly looked away from her and actively refused to meet her gaze in almost a flustered fashion, it became clear enough to Madellaine that he was, at least a little bit aware of his own feelings. Or at least, she could only _hope_ he was.

"He is a _friend_ , Quasimodo. Nothing more, and nothing less than that," Madellaine reassured him in a soft voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head firmly. "You don't have to worry…"

The blonde trailed off, letting out a haggard sigh and turning away from him, resting her elbow on top of the balcony's railing and her right cheek in her fist, looking thoroughly frustrated and put off about something unspoken that was bothering Madellaine.

She had been dreading this moment. This was bloody _it_ , the time was coming. To tell the man of her feelings for him or not to? Aye, but God be damned, she didn't know if she could do this!

This was…not exactly the way she had imagined in her mind telling him the truth when the entire city was on fire and both were wrought with worry over not knowing if Esmeralda was alive or not.

_Esmeralda_.

Madellaine froze as an abrupt bitterness seeped its way to the pit of her churning stomach as her face paled and turned an interesting shade of green. What were Quasimodo's thoughts and feelings on the Romani woman? But she _had_ to know. She bit down on her bottom lip in hesitation, weighing the options of telling the man of her feelings now, versus later, when perhaps there might not be another chance. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, thinking that now might be the only time she had left.

The young blonde breathed out a slightly shaking breath.

_Here it goes…_

Madellaine parted her lips open slightly to speak, though before she could so much as utter the first syllable of a word, the door that led to the upper level of the mezzanine burst open.

Sound traveled through the bell ringer's drafty towers, and the noise of someone entering his abode did not go unnoticed by either one of them as both their ears perked up at the intrusion.

"Quasi? Quasimodo? It's me! Are you here?" came _her_ voice.

Madellaine's eyes went even rounder until she felt quite certain they would pop out of their sockets as her blood ran cold.

_Esmeralda_. Through her shock upon hearing the Romani woman's voice was not admittedly because of the woman herself. If she was being honest with herself, she was immensely relieved that she had managed to escape Frollo's brutal efforts to find her, and a cold chill wafted down her spine as she felt the tension in her shoulders abruptly leave her body as they slumped.

The timing of her arrival, however, could have been approved upon, though Madellaine knew time never had been on her side. The lilt and pleading tone to Esmeralda's low, husky voice caught her attention, alerting her that something was very wrong. It was urgent. Demanding. Scared. Desperate. All of those.

Briefly exchanging a dark look of concern with Quasi, the pair of friends darted inside to see what in the seven hells could be so bloody wrong that would cause their friend so much concern.

The moment Madellaine peeked her head over the top of the wooden platform and down the ladder, her blood froze over wholly.

If she had thought it had been ice before, she had been sorely mistaken. Madellaine clamped a hand over her mouth in shock as bitter, acidic stomach bile rose from the lining of her stomach and settled upon her tongue as she caught the glimpse of Captain Phoebus's limp and unresponsive form being supported by the miller's son, a handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed chap, Darius, Madellaine thought his name was, and she was relieved to see Sophia as well, the younger brunette flanking Esmeralda's right.

"Oh, my _God_ ," Madellaine moaned, rushing down the rungs of the ladder, taking them two at a time as she hurried to Phoebus's side, leaving Quasimodo at the top of the ladder, utterly stupefied.

The blood that left Captain Phoebus's shoulder spewed out in violent spurts of red, his hands lay limp at his sides, his skin no longer a light tanned but grey, fingers sticky with congealing blood.

The blood gushed with a sickening determination from Phoebus's wound as if the man's own heart sought to pump it from his body. Madellaine clamped her fingers over the wound, having to shake the long sleeves of her green silk dress out of the way first, two pale starfish growing paler by the second as she tried in vain to stop the man's bleeding.

The scarlet blood lashed over the wooden floor of Quasimodo's bell tower, painting the scene in which the Captain of the Cathedral Guard would be found dead in unless she and Quasi were able to do something very smart, very fast…


	29. His Achilles Heel

**A/N: Hi all, I apologize for the delay in posting. I had a bit of Writer's Block (my worst enemy) and had to figure out where the story was going from here. I hope that you enjoy it!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Nine: His Achilles Heel**

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**ESMERALDA** fought to find her breath as Phoebus swayed precariously in Darius Barret's arms, and if it weren't for the miller's son and his lady love holding the soldier boy up by his arms, with each arm draped over their shoulders, he'd have fallen.

Esmeralda closed her eyes in anticipation as she steeled herself for Quasimodo to refuse to allow Phoebus to heal here.

As expected, she heard the young redheaded bell ringer give a sharp intake of breath as he stood almost motionless at the top of the ladder that led to the mezzanine of his living loft.

"Why is _he_ here?" she heard Quasi's voice and Esmeralda cringed at hearing how rough and coarse her friend's voice was.

He sounded surprisingly bitter and hurt, which was puzzling to the young Romani, though Esmeralda had no time to ponder this, shoving these thoughts to the back of her mind. Phoebus was more important, considering he was bleeding out on the bell tower floor unless Quasi agreed to hide him for her.

"He's been _hurt_ , Quasimodo!" Esmeralda gasped. She was starting to regret coming here, though she could think of nowhere else to take the Sun God so Phoebus could heal and rest. "And he needs to recover," she breathed in a breathless, shaking voice that sounded on the verge of tears.

She swallowed down past a lump in her throat and took a half-step forward towards the ladder and began to climb up, feeling Darius and Sophia escort Phoebus to the ladder to do the same.

"He needs stitches, my friend, Esmeralda and I can tend to Phoebus, but he will die from blood loss unless we help him, and now. Please don't turn him away, Quasi," Madellaine offered quietly, and Esmeralda shot the young blonde woman a look of gratitude with her eyes, silently trying to thank her friend for intervening and attempting to diffuse the tension.

"I…" Quasi hesitated, biting his bottom lip as his wretched vision flitted from the rapidly paling form of the captain, whose skin was looking quite pallid and lifeless as the seconds passed, to Esmeralda's deep piercing pleading eyes of green, and then back towards his friend, who'd moved to stand beside him and had placed a gentle hand on his misshapen shoulder.

His first inclination was to turn them away, and never to look upon the handsome golden-haired captain ever again and be satisfied with that outcome, though the other did not like at all how Madellaine was looking at Captain Phoebus right now.

The young blonde was biting down nervously on her bottom lip and blinking back tears, a sheen of sweat starting to throng on her forehead before the little droplets slid down her temples. She was suddenly looking quite feverish and Quasi was quick to decide that he did not at all like the reaction the handsome captain of the cathedral guard managed to invoke out of his friend.

But _why_? Quasi paused as he pondered this.

Captain Phoebus did not look at all good, and just for a moment, Quasimodo felt something ugly rise within himself.

_Let him bleed out and die here_ , a demonic, snakelike voice taunted him, whispering to him from the darkest corners of his mind. _Throw his body over the edge of the roof as soon as he draws his last breath, no one will surely miss this man? Surely?_

He squeezed his own eyelids shut to chase away the image of how Madellaine was looking at Phoebus, not at all sure why this was bothering him so bloody much, but it was, and the fact that he did not know where this stemmed from, troubled him.

Madellaine grabbed onto Quasi's forearms as if clinging to him as though the bell ringer were her sole lifeline. " _Please_ …"

His eyelids flung wide open as he gaped at her. It was the use of the word 'please' coming from Madellaine's lips that did it, that caused the sudden shift within himself, and he reluctantly knew before he opened his mouth to speak that he would concede to the women's pleas to allow Phoebus to stay.

"Follow me. This way," he murmured, motioning to Esmeralda and the others to follow him up the ladder and towards his sleeping nook. Quasi's breaths stemmed in his throat as hobbled his way towards his makeshift bedroom.

Little more than a corner with a pillow, some lighted candles, and a makeshift mattress, but it was more than enough for him. He cursed his bad leg that caused him to walk with a slightly lumbering gait and swore under his breath, but low enough so that Madellaine, who was trailing close behind, did not hear.

His sweet friend did not need to hear that kind of language, let alone on Holy Ground, come from him, though he was already a monster of the highest order whose soul was damned, so he figured God and His angels would grant him this pass.

His mind drifted as he led Madellaine, Esmeralda, and Phoebus to his sleeping nook, not quite here or there, pondering over why it was that it _bothered_ him, caused his chest to tighten over the way Madellaine was eyeing Phoebus.

Quasimodo gave his head a curt shake to clear it, resisting the urge to growl in frustration, forcing himself to shove aside from these unhelpful thoughts, not wanting to dwell on them further. He wasted no time in pulling back the worn and tattered green woolen cloth that served as the entrance to the corner of the bell tower where he slept, glancing up from turning at the waist to see none other than Madellaine standing in the doorway, her face ashen and clammy, and her hands were shaking so bad to hold steady the small wooden bowl and the bottle of Burgundy wine in her hands, she almost spilled it all.

"Madellaine?" Quasi questioned, hoping in some small way, shape, or form, however he could, to give her comfort, though he knew that his words would be of little help in this regard.

"Th—there's blood, there's so much _blood_ ," Madellaine whispered hoarsely, and if it was all possible, the violent trembling in her hands worsened, and she quickly set aside the basin and bottle of wine on the floor next to the pile of blankets.

The young blonde took a moment to gather the skirts of her dress and sit cross-legged on the floor as she worked to prepare a needle and thread to stitch up his wound as best she could, though it was a God-given miracle she could even hold the string steady enough to thread it with how bad she shook.

Quasi felt at a loss for words, not sure what to say or do. He did not want to give his friend even a shred or modicum of false hope and yet, nor could he lie to her about his condition.

His heart constricted and tightened in his chest, to the point where he almost felt like he was rendered unable to breathe.

He parted his lips open to speak, though the soft murmuring of voices reached his fatigued, ringing eardrums.

"I—I shouldn't…have…let you…save me…" Phoebus was saying in a low voice to Esmeralda as Darius and Esmeralda opened up the entrance to Quasi's sleeping nook and quickly ushered him inside to sit on top of the pile of blankets next to Madellaine. "Y—you would have…been arrested…or _killed_ …."

Phoebus, even in his incredibly weakened state, made a scoffing noise and rolled his eyes at the look of unbridled terror etched on Esmeralda's face. "It would…take more than an arrow to kill me, darling," he joked weakly. "But I…I'm going to be _much_ more careful with you." Phoebus smiled at Esmeralda, and everyone, Quasimodo and Madellaine included, realized his words were a vow.

He had been returned to Esmeralda unharmed and Phoebus was not going to take any chances of losing her again. Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, he leaned upward and kissed Esmeralda deeper and more passionately than he ever had before, before losing his strength and collapsing back onto the pillow with a low, agonized groan.

The man did not speak another word, save for the name he whispered mournfully in his sleep before losing consciousness.

"…Esmeralda…" For one brief moment, Phoebus saw Esmeralda kneeling over him through the haze beginning to take over his vision. He raised his hand to touch his love's face.

" _Please_ ," she begged, swallowing the lump in her throat. His fingers lingered on her cheek and then fell to his side limply, leaving streaks of blood down her jaw. His eyes closed slowly.

Esmeralda felt her eyes grow wide and round with alarm and a sense of overwhelming panic that she didn't know what to do. Madellaine turned around upon hearing the cry of pain leave her friend's lips and her heartstrings tugged with pity.

Madellaine remembered how distraught she had been when Papa had died and prayed that Esmeralda would not experience the pain of grieving the man who possessed her heart and Madellaine silently vowed to do what she could for the soldier boy who had saved both of their lives more than once now, and if nothing else, Madellaine owed Phoebus a great deal, and it was this that spurned the blonde into action.

Esmeralda clawed wildly at Phoebus's tunic, grasping the arrowhead that had struck his right shoulder, still embedded.

" _No_! Don't pull it out!" Madellaine ordered in a fierce voice, that for a moment, she swore she heard her older sister's commanding tones lace throughout her normally kind and quiet voice. She had seen enough of her father's men wounded in battle and in simple everyday life, that her instincts began to take over in caring for Captain Phoebus's wound.

The man might very well bleed to his death on top of these blanket piles if the arrowhead was wrenched away from his body. Esmeralda recreated her hands, waiting for instructions from her friend.

His tunic was soaked with the blood that continued to spill from Phoebus's wound. Madellaine, with shaking, albeit slowly steadying hands, silently accepted the dagger Esmeralda withdrew from its sheath around her belt and sliced the linen covering as well, exposing the man's collarbones now reddened by the slick flow of his own life force.

"Oh, _God_ ," Madellaine moaned, scrunching her nose as her face turned an interesting shade of green.

She looked away for a moment, forcing herself to swallow the bile on her tongue, praying she wouldn't get sick. As she gingerly set above removing Phoebus's shirt, much to the growing discomfort and anger of the bell ringer, lingering behind a wooden beam and watching in agonizing silence, Madellaine was careful not to push the arrow tip any further, though she was surprised to see that his wound had already been packed by someone.

"The point is still in his shoulder," Madellaine whispered urgently, taking note of how wrought Esmeralda's face was with worry and fear for the man.

Madellaine began to examine the wound, prodding with the pads of her fingertips, barely grazing the surface of the injury. She pressed around the outside of the puncture and peered closely at the edges. Madellaine glanced up, looking wildly around the room for something she could use until she spotted a worn-out blanket that did not look as though Quasi slept on it or used it for warmth and thought that sufficient.

The young blonde began to pull the rough fabric that someone, probably the miller's son if she had to hazard a guess, had stuffed into Captain Phoebus's wound on his arm.

The poor bloke shuddered and groaned as if just this simple act of removing the makeshift tourniquet pained him.

Esmeralda stiffened and gave Madellaine a pleading look, though was not given a chance as Sophia, God bless that girl, hurried over carrying the bottle of Burgundy and a wet rag. The brunette poured some clear liquid onto the cloth and held it for a few seconds over Phoebus's nose and his mouth.

The golden-haired man struggled for a moment, before relaxing and his lids fluttered closed, appearing to be sleeping.

"Who packed his wound?" Madellaine asked breathlessly, glancing up towards Esmeralda, Darius, and Sophia, all of whom raised their hands, though her gaze was fixated on Darius, the miller's son. Madellaine nodded, finishing her inspection of Captain Phoebus's current medical needs, shifted at the waist, though she made no move to uncross her legs and get up off the floor. "Then you all have just saved his life, my friends," Madellaine murmured in a quietly approving tone.

Esmeralda appeared relieved for a moment. Then she looked towards the young blonde woman whom she was starting to consider something like a sister to her, desperately.

"Please. Save him," she begged, not trusting herself to do it herself by the horrible way her hands were violently shaking.

Madellaine opened her mouth to speak, but all she managed was a tiny squeak and a curt little nod of her head.

It was clear that her friend was desperately in love with the Captain of the Guard, and as her sharp blue eyes drifted down to Esmeralda's hands, which the older woman had a nervous habit of painfully wringing together, she caught the glimpse of the yellow gold wedding ring on her hand that she surmised Phoebus had intended to give to her. Madellaine smiled.

It looked much better on Esmeralda's hand than that of her own. Madellaine nodded again, sending a silent prayer to God that she would help Phoebus to pull through the worst of this. There was no time to lose. Madellaine turned away from Esmeralda and Quasimodo, who had nervously stepped out from behind the wooden pillar behind which he'd taken refuge and was now nervously standing next to Esmeralda.

Madellaine huffed in frustration and agitation as she felt the pair of them looming over her, casting shadows over Phoebus's limp and unresponsive form, impeding her light.

"Please, I need space to work. I cannot have you hovering over me like this. I need the light," she requested in as polite a voice as she could manage. "Esmeralda, the best thing you can do for me is to wait outside," Madellaine begged in what she hoped was a kind tone.

Esmeralda stiffened, bristling, and scowling a dark look at the young blonde, who flinched, though was otherwise unfazed. Madellaine, not in the mood, nodded to Quasi, who was able to take the hint and gingerly took the woman's arm, though Esmeralda fought the redhaired bell ringer the whole way out of the sleeping nook. "No, I need to stay _with_ him!"

Understanding his friend's hostility, as Quasi was wrestling with similar feelings of allowing Madellaine to remain in the same room alone with de Chateaupers, nevertheless, he did his best to calm Esmeralda, sensing the stress was not good for her.

"Y—you n—need to let Madellaine _work_ ," Quasi stammered nervously, tripping over his words as he tugged on Esmeralda's arm and, using just a little of his overwhelming strength, dragged her over the threshold that separated his sleeping nook from the rest of his bell tower's living space.

"B—but I want Phoebus to know I'm here!" Esmeralda pleaded, swallowing past a lump in her throat, blinking back tears as she turned to look Quasimodo in the eyes, her face pained and rapidly paling, and for a moment, it looked as though she might be sick with worry. He sincerely hoped not.

"Th—the soldier knows," Quasi tried to comfort his friend.

Esmeralda nodded mutely, pursing her lips into a thin line as she collapsed against the wall, exhausted, her strength leaving her and slid down to the floor, bringing her knees close to her chest and resting her chin on top of her bony kneecaps.

Slowly, somewhat apprehensively, Quasi slid down the wall and sat beside Esmeralda, not sure if there had ever been a time in his wretched, monstrous life where he had felt more awkward and out of place, not knowing what to say to either girl in order to soothe their frayed nerves over the soldier's life.

"H—he's in good hands," Quasi stammered encouragingly. Esmeralda eyed the red-haired bell ringer out of the corner of her eye, remembering Madellaine's clumsy and awkward ways when she had first met the young blonde woman weeks ago.

Sensing Esmeralda was not yet convinced, Quasi blew out an exasperated breath and continued. "I—if a—anyone can see the captain through this, M—Madellaine can," he whispered.

The pair of friends sat in silence outside of Quasi's sleeping nook for a while, with the miller's son and his lover having long since fled the bell tower for a safe sanctuary space of their own.

The small world of the north bell tower carried on around them. Their backs pressed against the cold wooden wall, Esmeralda and Quasimodo did not speak much, knowing that Captain Phoebus was fighting for his life inside of his bedroom.

Esmeralda ran a pale hand over her drawn, worried face, thinking that this experience of saving the captain's life, only for her love to teeter on Death's brink like this, had aged her.

She raised her red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes to the top of Quasi's tower loft and looked up into the rafters, remembering the wonderful moments thus far she'd spent with Phoebus. Esmeralda had stopped imagining anything but a life with him weeks ago. As the thought left her mind, Madellaine gingerly poked her head through the doorway before stepping outside.

The young blonde was deliberate and careful in her quiet movements, and her pale features showcased the exhaustion she would not allow her body to feel for several more hours. Esmeralda and Quasi rose, both of them unsteady on their feet. Quasi was afraid to try to read Madellaine's expression.

"H—how is he?" he asked, fear shadowing his hopes. While he did not particularly care for the golden-haired man, considering the reaction he had elicited from Madellaine an hour or so ago, that did not mean he wanted Esmeralda to suffer. She cared for the soldier boy, that much he could see.

Madellaine looked at her two friends, her blue eyes heavy. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly before delivering her news. "Captain Phoebus is going to be just _fine_ ," she muttered, wiping her blood-stained palms on a damp rag before tossing it aside, thinking she would deal with it later. "He made it through the surgery. I—I was able to pull the arrowhead out."

A wary, faint, ghost of a smile flitted its way across Madellaine's cheeks as her gaze turned towards Quasimodo.

A look of… _something_ , darted through her blue eyes as her smile faltered upon seeing his face pulled taut with worry, though Quasi did not have time to ponder what that emotion might be as the blonde turned her gaze back to La Esmeralda.

Esmeralda dissolved in relief as Quasi grabbed her shoulders and embraced the Romani woman without so much as a second thought, knowing the girl needed comfort now.

As they pulled away and turned back toward Madellaine for further updates, there was an odd look of anger on her face at the gesture, though she quickly molded her features to a smile. She was, at the very least, happy she could bring good news.

However, Madellaine was still quite cautious of declaring the captain back to good, full health.

"He's sleeping," she muttered in a low voice, careful to keep her voice down as she cast a wary glance over her shoulder back towards Quasi's sleeping area. "He isn't out of the woods yet," Madellaine announced gravely, which tempered Esmeralda's momentary happiness. "He's not yet woken up and there is a risk of infection," she warned. "His injury was a serious one. He needs time to _heal_."

"May I see him?" Esmeralda begged, her worry returning.

Madellaine smiled, though it did not reach her blue eyes. "After you," she said quietly, conceding to Esmeralda's request.

The young blonde drew back the flap of the curtain that covered the entrance to Quasi's sleeping nook, with Quasi following slowly behind, trying to tamper down the feelings of jealousy and anger that the captain was sleeping in _his_ bed.

Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers lay motionless and still as a corpse on the small cot on the ground, covered with a thin, tattered grey blanket. His skin was quite pale from loss of blood. His breathing weak and shallow, making a horrible rattling noise that sounded raspy from the back of his throat.

There was no point in trying to deny it. He looked more dead than alive and could have passed for a corpse were it not for the man's gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, the only sign he still drew in a breath. The moment Esmeralda saw Phoebus, her legs buckled, and she fell to the ground at the soldier's side.

Lacking the strength to stand, Esmeralda knelt by the soldier boy's motionless frame, taking his hand and pressing it to her lips in such a tender, affectionate gesture of love, true love, that both Quasimodo and Madellaine had to look away, feeling as though they were intruding on something private.

Quasi and Madellaine stood at the foot of the pile of blankets, giving Esmeralda the time that she needed with him.

Finally, Esmeralda spoke as she shakily rose to her feet, brushing her hands on her skirts, her voice a broken, hoarse rasp. "Will Phoebus wake soon?" Esmeralda asked in a dry tone.

Madellaine cringed, clearing her throat as she struggled to form a response. "That's… difficult to say when, exactly, for sure, hopefully soon," she stammered, hating that she was now tripping over her words. "His body has been through great trauma. He needs to rest," she said cautiously, choosing her words carefully so as to not incite further panic in her friend when Esmeralda already worried over the soldier boy enough. "That will take some time and you—"

Though before Madellaine could elaborate further on just what it was exactly that Phoebus de Chateaupers was going to need to ensure a swift and speedy recovery, the sound of a loud bleating noise that came from Esmeralda's pet Nubian goat reached her eardrums, and she perked up at the noise, intrigued. Whatever was wrong with the animal, it was scared.

Madellaine and Quasimodo's heads whiplashed upward and behind them at the exact same time, and they exchanged a dark look with one another before Madellaine and Esmeralda and Quasi both bolted forward on their heels out to the balcony to see what was causing the little white goat so much distress.

"What on _earth_ …?" Madellaine exclaimed in a sour voice as her knuckles were white as she gripped onto the railing. "Oh, _no_ …"

Quasi and Madellaine both felt their breaths catching in their throat and their hearts plummet to the pit of their bellies.

The three friends could see as plain as the noses on their faces the darkened silhouette of Judge Frollo's black carriage.

Frollo stepped swiftly out of the claustrophobic looking device and Quasi swore that he tilted his head and locked his gaze onto the bell tower balcony, though whether or not he saw the three of them out on the terrace by the balustrade, he had no time to react as he, in a somewhat rough and violent way to prevent both Madellaine and Esmeralda from being seen, grabbed the pair of women by their waists and hauled them back inside into the shadows, shrouded under cover of darkness.

"You must _go_ ," Quasimodo spoke urgently to Esmeralda, turning towards the young Romani woman. " _Now_."

Esmeralda nodded, though she plunged her hand down the front of her blouse and rummaged for something. Ignoring the redheaded bell ringer's startled cry of surprise as a mad blush speckled its way along his cheeks, she grumbled under her breath as she removed a woven band from around her neck.

Without any hesitation on her part, Esmeralda handed it to Madellaine, whose lips were agape, as if devoid of words, though the young blonde numbly accepted it without question.

"If something goes wrong, come find me, you two," she whispered urgently. "Just remember: _when you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hands_. And…" she paused, though she had been about to turn on her heels to go. "Take care of him for me," she implored, begging them both.

"We promise," Madellaine and Quasimodo swore in unison, before looking at each other in surprise, blinking rapidly and each of them gave their heads a curt shake to clear it upon hearing Esmeralda's footsteps fade, though another set of familiar clacking boot heels were making their way up the stairwell. " _Damn_ ," Madellaine swore through gritted teeth, temporarily forgetting her place on Holy Ground. "Frollo's coming. If he _sees_ him…"

She shuddered at _that_ unpleasant visual image.

"We—we have to hide the captain! Quasi, _help_ me, I'm not strong enough to carry him by myself! Please!" she begged and turned on the heel of her brown leather boots and darted back into the man's sleeping nook to find a suitable place to hide the injured Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers.

Quasi merely grunted wordlessly in response, trying, and feeling like he was failing to ignore the horrible burning fiery agony that resurfaced in his churning stomach and chest upon hearing Madellaine say Phoebus's name in such a tender way.

He followed the young blonde inside of his sleeping nook, praying that the two of them would have enough time to stash the stiff somewhere in a spot where Master wouldn't look at all. Quasi could only pray that they weren't too late, for if Master found the injured captain and Madellaine in his tower…

Then he would surely arrest them, or even worse, and that, Quasimodo did not like to think, and he silently vowed to do whatever it took to protect them both from Master Frollo's ire.


	30. A Brutal Interrogation

**Fair Warning, Readers: This is going to be a difficult chapter for some to get through, but I did warn you. Frollo is the villain of this story for a reason. Trigger warning for some for mental and physical abuse, but I promise, I don't let anything too* bad happen to Quasi.**

**He's too much a cinnamon roll to make happen, and if anything does* happen, he has Madellaine to comfort him (Hint, hint. Their relationship takes it a step further in this chapter, and I hope I've done it justice.) I wanted to get in at least one more chapter before I go out of town for Christmas break next week, and hope that you enjoy, readers. My work, as always, is at your mercy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: A Brutal Interrogation**

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**MADELLAINE** tried her hardest to quell the pounding of her throbbing heart in its cage of bone and cartilage, though it was exceptionally hard to remain calm and collected with the knowledge that her former master, that damned snake, was on his way up the bell tower stairwell, and she wondered if it had gotten through his egotistical, thick-headed skull that Esmeralda had escaped her precious haven, her sanctuary, or if Quasimodo had a hand in helping orchestrate it.

The fear welled up within her chest because the former captain of the cathedral guard had just come out of a surgery, a surgery that her hands were still stained crimson with his own blood, and he was in no shape to leave this bell tower without her help.

Truth be told, he really shouldn't be moving around much at all for the next several days if his wound were to heal normally, though as pigheaded, and as stubborn as the Sun God could be, the young blonde woman highly doubted the man would see a lick of sense when it came to La Esmeralda.

"Hurry," she moaned through gritted teeth as she shook her head curtly to clear her mind of thoughts of what the man would likely do to Quasi if Claude were to learn the truth. "Your—your master is coming any second. If he _finds_ him… _help_ me, Quasi!"

Madellaine ducked into the bell ringer's sleeping tent and made a beeline straight for Captain Phoebus's side, who was still knocked out cold. Stifling a groan of frustration and resisting the urge to stomp her foot, a temporary release of her pent-up feelings of agitation at her sister's arrival, her unresolved feelings for Quasimodo, and now…this, threatened to bubble to the surface and boil over if she were not careful.

The blonde knelt at her former betrothed's side and gingerly shook his uninjured shoulder as best as she was able in the hopes of rousing him from his deep slumber, but he was unmoved and as still as a lifeless corpse. She let out a sigh. She seized on tufts of her short blonde hair and tugged them so hard the roots screamed in protest.

God be damned, why was her life always so destined to be _difficult_?!

But Madellaine was given no time to respond as the captain mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, sighing. Grunting and gritting her teeth with the effort, tugging futilely on the sleeve of his tunic, pulling at his arm in the hopes of pulling him to his feet and hiding him somewhere else, anywhere else at this point, was proving to be a lost cause.

Madellaine let out a pained gasp of surprise as his arm wildly shot out and caught her middle, and before she had a chance so much as to even cry out for Quasimodo to help her, or even try to use her hands to shove against Phoebus's chest, the golden-haired captain of the king's archers rolled on top of Judge Frollo's former hearth keep, his right hand splayed dangerously close to her right breast.

"Well, this is just _great_." The words were spat like bitter poison that had settled and lingered upon her tongue, and Madellaine was surprised she could even speak at all, considering the one movement from the captain had pretty much knocked the wind from her lungs.

She turned her head to the side to cough as she heard the sound of the thick woolen blanket being moved, exhaling a sigh of relief as her gaze latched onto Quasi's slightly misshapen form.

"H—help me!" she breathed frantically. Madellaine couldn't be certain, but she swore the Judge's footsteps, those damned clacking bootheels of his, were getting closer and closer as the seconds dragged and turned into minutes. "W—we h—have to hide him…somewhere where Frollo won't look…"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the crushing weight of the captain's broad force that had her pinned down to the floor was suddenly removed from her.

"Th—thank you," she gasped out in a weak voice, turning her head to the side to cough as her lungs beseeches sweet, precious oxygen to return to them. Slowly, the blackened edges of her fading vision began to clear away, and her vision returned to normal now that the captain wasn't crushing her beneath his body.

She shakily rose to her feet and brushed her hands on the skirts of her green silk gown and looked towards Quasimodo, thinking his almost volatile, possessive behavior to be uncouth and not like the gentle giant.

"Did Phoebus hurt you?" he barked in a hoarse, rough, grating voice that made Madellaine shiver a bit.

Concern and anger within the man's sky blue orbs radiated from within as he looked her form up and down once, for any signs of injury, though he did not let his gaze linger too long, though Madellaine could not quite discern where her feelings of disappointment were coming from, but she quickly shoved them aside.

Madellaine had never seen her friend quite like this, in all the times now over the last few weeks she'd spent up in the bell tower, getting to know Quasimodo better.

It was almost…possessive, much like a dog with a bone and said dog was growling and snarling towards his challenger, the challenger, in this case, being Phoebus.

"No," she stammered, wracking her brain, struggling to find the right words. "He's still knocked out cold. Don't blame Phoebus for that, my friend. He—he didn't know what he was doing. Yell at him later when he wakes, Quasi, but we don't have bloody time for this!"

_Damn_. Quasi's mind felt like it was reeling as the blonde's words hit him squarely in the chest so hard that he staggered backward, raking his fingers through his fiery tuft of red hair. He'd almost forgotten about Frollo.

"Here," he muttered darkly under his breath, his cerulean blue orbs losing their hardened gaze for a moment as he tore his wretched eyesight from the blond-haired soldier boy of Esmeralda's and back towards Madellaine, a much lovelier sight, in his mind.

Grinding his teeth with the effort to quell his temper and resisting the urge to kick the captain in the stones where he knew it would hurt the handsome man the worst, he dragged Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, in a somewhat ungainly manner, out of his makeshift sleeping nook and towards his carving table, violently shoving the golden-haired captain underneath the wooden table with one rough kick of his leather boot.

Madellaine furrowed her thin eyebrows into a frown, scrutinizing the woolen tarp that covered the length of the table. It was long enough that she supposed it could hide a person hiding underneath it from someone's view, even if said person happened to be coming up the stairs and— _oh, damn_!

The young blonde's blue eyes widened as she looked wildly around for a place to hide, before spotting a particularly large stone statue of a decapitated head of Moses and thinking it sufficient.

It wasn't much, but considering how petite she was, it was going to have to do. Better than remaining exposed and vulnerable in the open like this and Frollo finding her up here with his ward.

Thinking quickly, Madellaine darted behind the statute and shrank behind Moses' head as far as she could, until her form was completely shrouded in shadow, and she remained unseen. It was more than enough of a hiding spot for now, and still allowed her to observe the world of his bell tower.

A worthy vantage point, she pondered, though was given no time to react as she heard the door to Quasi's bell tower creaking wide open and Judge Frollo's cold, listless baritone announced his presence to his ward.

"M—Master Frollo," the hunchback's tenor-like, quiet and reserved voice faltered and wavered as the Judge climbed the ladder that led to the man's living loft. "I—I h—had no idea that you would be ah, visiting me tonight, sir," he stammered, fumbling over his words.

"I always have time for you, my dear boy. I brought you a little…treat," came the Judge's smooth, languid voice like silk that caused Madellaine's skin to erupt into gooseflesh and the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand upright.

_God be damned_ , she thought, swearing. _He knows. His tone of voice, he—he just has to know_!

Madellaine's eyes widened as she could see the towering figure of Claude Frollo move to sit at the very table behind which Captain Phoebus was well-hidden underneath. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, almost not daring to find strength to look.

The man's voice wouldn't have suggested anger to most Parisians, but Madellaine knew the man better. His calm timbre hid within a deep-seated rage, that, if judged correctly, was about to burst forth any second.

Onto the person that she was growing to care for. Madellaine knew she would never forgive herself if she didn't dare look, and despite her better judgement, she opened her eyes, swiveling her head back to look again.

It was at that point that Madellaine felt her heart sink and she knew she might as well fling herself from over the ledge of the balcony and to the cold stones below.

"M—Master," came the red-haired bell ringer's quivering voice, clearly unaware of the shift of the Judge's countenance as the man looked coldly about the bell tower, before his gaze settled on the boy's table.

"What's… _different_ about your home this evening, my boy?" came Frollo's listless voice, and Madellaine drew in a sharp breath that pained her ribcage as she clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing her breathing to a stop.

She swore that he looked at her as his disinterested gaze wandered the length of his tower loft and came to a stop behind Moses' head. The blonde shrank back as far into the shadows as she possibly could until she felt a sharp pang in her back as a wooden splinter cut through the material of her dress's fabric.

She winced, but dared not make a peep, lest she give away her current position.

"N—nothing. Sir," Quasi quickly stammered, trying to mask his nervousness with a look of indifference, and seemed to wilt like a fully-bloomed, but dying flower under the judge's steely gaze as his grey eyes narrowed.

"Did you do this?" asked Judge Frollo, his voice still ever present. Thankfully, he tore his gaze away from his pensive, almost thoughtful staring of the statue of Moses' head behind which Madellaine had taken refuge, praying she wouldn't be discovered in his tower. Thankfully, he did not seem to notice the blonde hiding in the shadows.

"Sir?" breathed Quasimodo in a breathless sounding voice. "I—I don't…understand, M—Master," he managed.

"Did someone set you _up_ to do this?" the Judge growled, and this time, Claude Frollo's voice sounded further away, though the man's figure remained unmoved from his seat at Quasimodo's carving table.

Madellaine had to crane her neck forward and gingerly inched carefully a half step forward to better see what was going on, praying to God above that she didn't step on a particularly creaky wooden floorboard right now, or else she would be well and truly in dire straits.

Quasi flinched sharply but swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat and picked at a loose strand that was coming undone of his linen undershirt he wore underneath his tunic, before his fingers moved to his gloves, restless and desperate for Master to just leave.

"M—Master, what is…" he began, though his words quickly died upon his tongue the moment the judge's expression hardened at his ward's ignorance of what Claude was asking him in the moment and his head whiplashed sharply upward to regard the younger man from his seat across the table. Quasimodo fell silent.

"Please do not _lie_ to me, boy. What, Maria pray tell me, is _this_?" he growled in a low, dangerous voice that made Madellaine flinch. She'd almost prefer him to shout at the man, just let it out of his system, but this?

This was _worse_. Ten times worse. She drew in a sharp breath and watched as, without a word, Claude's jeweled, spindly fingers reached across the table and plucked the truly exquisite carving of Esmeralda clad in her purple gown that Quasi had only just finished putting the finishing touches on but the other day with her help.

Frollo held it up silently at eye's length, examining the details of the divine figurine, before letting out a sniff of disapproval through his nose and then offered it to the young hunchback, a silent demand for an explanation lingering in the air between the two men.

"I must say, my son, the likeness is exquisite. It looks very much like that gypsy girl," he snarled, pausing for emphasize, and before Quasi could bolt to his feet, Frollo rose from his seat and skirted around the edge of the wooden table, drawing back his arm and hefting it so that the carving landed in a skidding halt in front of Moses. Madellaine resisted the great temptation to dart around from behind her hiding place and pick it up.

Claude seized onto two fistfuls of Quasi's thick green woolen tunic and shook the red-haired bell ringer violently before shoving him backward with his hands.

"I _know_ _you helped her escape, wretch! I had guards posted at every door! Every single entrance was surrounded. There was no bloody way she could have escaped, unless you helped her scale the walls, boy_!"

His baritone voice was full of such anger and fury, that Madellaine, from her place in the shadows, was taken completely off-guard, and stifled a half-choked sob of misery, wishing the Judge would just go away.

She could not help but flinch, for she had never heard anyone sound quite like he did in his rancor as the Judge was right now to his ward. Simply put, Claude Frollo sounded utterly terrifying, much like the night when he had released her from his servitude. Quasimodo, it seemed, felt the same way too, as the blonde could hear the man shaking and whimpering.

" _Did you think that I did not know_?" the Judge bellowed.

Madellaine could not even form a reply, not that she would have if given the opportunity, for it would reveal her presence here in the towers, besides, and more to the point, she'd lost the ability to speak.

" _Did you honestly think that you could get away with this_?" he snarled, wrenching the bell ringer to his feet by his forearm, his ironclad grip tightening and slamming the younger man against a wooden beam, so hard that Quasi swore he felt a muscle in his hunched back crack and pull. He flinched but could not tear his gaze away from his master's. His blue eyes brimmed with fear. " _Where is she? Where is the gypsy girl_?" Frollo's baritone voice bellowed as his hand came to wind around the column of his ward's throat and squeezed.

_Hard_. Madellaine almost stepped out of the shadows just then, thinking the Judge was about to strangle her dear friend to death, and that, her own life be damned, she could not allow, though she swore Quasi met her gaze and gave his head the briefest shakes. _Don't do it._

His eyes seemed to plead with her, piercing right through her, and Madellaine bit down on her bottom lip and then her tongue in anguish so hard that she tasted the metallic tang of copper and iron on her tongue.

She'd bitten it hard enough to bleed. Seeing no other choice, recognizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that it would only make things worse for her friend if she were to step from the shadows, she shrank further back into the enclosed space behind Moses's head and waited for Frollo's wrath to tamper.

"Y _ou're weak! You've got your parents' corruption and wickedness inside of you. I should have taken you into the sea myself and drowned you, let the waves carry you away, but out of the goodness of my heart, I take you in, and this is the thanks I get_? _Use your head, boy! That wasn't love, that the girl showed for you, it was cunning! She used you to escape! Think, boy, think of your mother and your father_!" Frollo screamed, spittle flying from his lips as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. His voice was becoming hoarse from shouting.

He drew back his hand without so much as a warning to the bell ringer and backhanded him so forcefully, that one of his rings caught the skin underneath Quasi's one good eye, and a red welt immediately began to form.

Madellaine felt her pounding heart turn to ice and almost come to a complete standstill the moment the judge straightened to his full height, towering over the cowering bell ringer and withdrew a dagger that he'd somehow managed to hide up the sleeves of his robes.

She stepped forward, about to come out from the shadows and defend her friend. If he was going to kill him, then the Judge would have to get through her, but there was no need, as Quasimodo was not his target.

Ignoring the whimpering bell ringer, he strode away from the man, who was forced into a submissive position on his knees, and towards Moses's head.

Madellaine clamped a hand over her mouth, thinking that the Judge had somehow found out she was up here, but this did not appear to be the case, for he stooped slightly and plunged the tip of his blade into Esmeralda's carving, before swiftly turning on the heels of his boots, but instead of making for the bell tower's stairwell to head back downstairs to the main level of the sanctuary, he plunged Esmeralda's carving into the lighted flame of a burning candle.

When Frollo spoke, his voice was calm.

"It makes no difference to me, boy," came Frollo's now-offhanded sounding voice that sounded somewhat distant and disconnected, in Madellaine's mind as she silently observed the man's shift in countenance from her place in the shadows. "I merely wanted to see if the girl had told you anything. She clearly does not trust you enough, think you a friend, or she would have said. I already know where the gypsy witch and the rest of that horrible infestation is hiding. I will be attacking the Court of Miracles at dawn with a thousand men, and the girl will torment you no longer. Soon, we can go back to the way things were, my boy. Just you and I, in our sanctuary at the top of the world. You will see, son."

His voice was quieter, much more subdued than merely seconds ago, when he'd nearly shouted himself hoarse in his blind rage, or perhaps it had been the shouting that had caused him to lose his voice and he had no other choice but to speak like this, no matter how angry he was. Whatever the case, it chilled her blood.

Frollo gave the dagger a curt flick with a sharp, jerking motion of his wrist so that the carving slipped off the edge of the blade, rolling across the wooden floorboards until it collided gently against the sole of the bell ringer's brown leather boot, now burnt, and charred beyond recognition as the Judge disappeared down the stairwell and into the shadows, like the snake in the night that Madellaine knew that insufferable man to really be.

Seconds turned to minutes. Finally, after about three or four minutes had passed, Madellaine deemed it safe to emerge from her hiding place and ducked out behind the statue of Moses's head. The abject look of shock and horror on Quasimodo's rapidly pale features was heart wrenching. His normally kind expression was becoming unreadable. It was devoid, much like his master's now.

Listless. No emotion in his burning bright blue eyes. The man kept his gaze fixated, unable to tear it away, on the burning figure of their mutual friend and the captain's lady love, of Esmeralda, at the edge of his boot.

It was more than disturbing, but they had no time to dwell on this. Esmeralda was in grave danger, and she and the rest of her people needed to be warned while there were still more than a few hours of nighttime left.

"Quasi?" Madellaine whispered in a hoarse voice, approaching cautiously with her arm outstretched to lay on his shoulder, hoping to convey some small form of comfort. But at the same time, she didn't know what to expect from the man now that Frollo had beaten him.

His head remained bowed, his hands resting limply in his knees, that one stubborn fiery lock of coarse ginger hair falling in front of his face, shielding whatever expression was painted on his features from her sight.

Hot tears stung and marred the edges of her blurring vision, and poor Madellaine found she had to fight back a half-choked, watery sob that threatened to escape her lips. Quasi needed her to be the strong one now, she knew. For Esmeralda. She had to keep it together now.

And above all else, the two of them had to get to the Court of Miracles while there was still time left to leave.

A muffled grunt suddenly reached her eardrums.

"Ugh…we h—have to go. To the Court of Miracles. Before daybreak. If Frollo gets there first, she is dead."

Startled by the sound of Captain de Chateaupers' voice, Madellaine whirled around on the heel of her boot to see the blond-haired ex-captain of the guard shakily rising to his feet, using the edge of the carving table for support, his knuckles white-boned with the effort to steady himself, the makeshift sling Madellaine had created using strips of old ragged cloths holding his injured arm steadfast, preventing him from moving it.

Color had returned to the man's sun-kissed complexion, for which she was relieved to see, and the man appeared well enough to walk, though Madellaine was not about to be fooled. Appearances could deceive you, as she had learned within her weeks here in Paris.

Still remaining with her hand planted firmly on Quasi's shoulder, her hand now moving to the man's thick tuft of red hair and running her fingers through it, she felt him shudder at her gentle touch, but still, he did not look at her.

" _You_ are not going anywhere, Sun God," Madellaine snapped. "You're still _wounded_. You need to allow yourself time to _heal_. You're not in any condition to go traipsing about Paris looking for Esmeralda, sir."

What little color regained in Phoebus's face promptly drained as a look of shock and outrage darted across the man's face.

"I'm not going to let some _arrow_ ," he spat the word as though it were poison in his mouth, "get in my way, milady. I thank you for mending it, as you did, but I have had much worse than this. I'm going to find Esmeralda with or without your help, my dear, and it's not going to bode well for you if you mean to stop me."

Phoebus left his thinly-veiled threat hanging in the air between the trio, and the man meant every word. She could tell by his stance, his mind was made up, and to attempt to stop him from going with, would not bode well for her or for Quasimodo. The man was right.

"Fine, _fine_ , have it your way!" Madellaine sighed, groaning as she pinched at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "It's not going to matter if I said 'no' in the first place, Phoebus. You would just follow me anyway."

She let out another tired sigh and returned her attention to Quasimodo, who had, thank God, come out of his petrified state and was regarding the young blonde with such an intense expression, she was not sure how to make of it, or what to do in this regard, but she knew she wanted to do something— _anything_ —to comfort him.

Madellaine merely stared at him for a moment as he sanguinely lifted his head and met the man's gaze, savoring his almost still movements as he rose from his stool and ran a gloved hand through his thick, disheveled red hair and ran it down along the column of his throat, wincing as the pads of his fingers ghosted along the red markings where Frollo had grabbed him.

She bit down on her bottom lip, thinking now might be the only time she had to show him her feelings, though she could not recall a time when she felt so nervous.

Yet, being here in his tower with him, despite what had just happened, finally realizing she was in love with Notre Dame's bell ringer, Madellaine could also not recall a time in her life when she ever felt more at ease.

Spurred by the closeness the two of them shared as Quasi cautiously looked her once-over for any signs of pain or hurts, and eager to show the man how she felt, Madellaine could no longer stand the distance between them. She didn't give a good damn if Phoebus watched.

_Let him see_ , she thought, almost angrily. As he turned away from her and knelt to pick up the burnt carving of Esmeralda's now-ruined figurine, she closed off the gap of space and now stood firmly planted in front of him, halting Quasi's movements, and preventing him from so much as taking another step forward.

"I…come with us. _Please_ ," she declared.

Unsure, not confident and all, and almost disbelieving of her own actions, but wanting desperately to show him how she felt, Madellaine did not give Quasi a chance to react before pressing her lips against his mouth, kissing him.

Quasi's blue eyes widened in shock as he stood there, unable to move, the bell tower's environment around him utterly spinning as he tasted Madellaine's sweet lips.

He was shocked, yes, any fool could see that, but it was more so the tentative stupor of being given the one thing that he wanted the very most, and afraid that if he moved, then all of…whatever _this_ was, would disappear.

Quasi could not afford to take any risks with his friend. Even if this was exactly what Madellaine wanted, he had to be certain. No woman had ever kissed him.

It was this thought that caused Quasimodo to barely bring his own lips to meet hers. He was too shell-shocked.

Never before had he been affected by a woman.

The concept of love and courtship was foreign to the desolate, lonely bell ringer. But then again, during the growing weeks of his increasingly warm friendship with the young blonde, never had he been so sure of this feeling that sent a spiraling warmth through his chest, and so uncertain of his actions, not knowing what to do.

Quasi _tried_ to kiss her back, but it was clear that he had no idea what to do. Not that Madellaine seemed to care, yet something within him, an instinct, a drive, told the man to close his eyes and follow her example, so he did, much to Phoebus's amusement, now leaning against a wooden beam the stairs, a smirk on his handsome face.

"Don't be afraid to really, you know, get into it!" Phoebus called out in an amused lilt, his tone teasing.

Quasi resisted the urge to growl in frustration at the captain's interruption of what was a blissful moment.

The feeling of the young blonde's body pressed firmly and tight against his was almost too surreal and good to be true, and Quasi seized up, utterly frozen.

He was terrified of making a wrong move with Madellaine. He prayed that she would not misinterpret his reaction, but unfortunately, Madellaine did just that.

Madellaine quickly realized that Quasimodo was not at all reacting to her passionate kiss, or to her nearness. Shaken and horrified, she pulled apart first and back from him, searching his confused blue eyes for the truth.

Her expression registered her utter confusion at the boldness of what she had just done and her hurt. Madellaine drew her hands from his arms and brought them up to cover her mouth a horrified squeak escaped her lips. Horrified by the realization of her actions, Madellaine could only gape at the flushed bell ringer.

She stood there, shocked, numb for a moment, and then backed away from Quasimodo in embarrassment.

"I…I'm so _sorry_ ," she begged, mortified, her cheeks pink and flushed high with color. "Forgive me, Quasi."

But as she moved towards the ladder to join Phoebus, who held a strangely triumphant smirk on his handsome features that Quasi wished he could wipe off Phoebus's face, Quasi caught Madellaine gently by the wrist and brought her back around to face him, not letting her go.

"Th—the last thing I want in this world is to h—hurt you," he murmured, his tenor-like tone heavy with desire for his friend as her passionate kiss left him with a fiery warmth spreading throughout his wretched chest.

His affection-filled eyes met Madellaine's blue ones.

"B—but…a—are you _sure_?" he asked lovingly, caressing her cheek delicately with the tip of his finger.

Madellaine stared. For a moment, not able to speak. All she could do was nod yes in agreement, unable to take her eyes away from his, despite Phoebus's little smirking session at what just happened in the corner.

She was awed by the depths of Quasi caring for her. As she continued to look at him, she realized why the bell ringer had not met her kiss with eagerness as she had hoped that he would, and she loved him even more for how much he silently respected her, the things that he would not say to her, but went out of his way to show.

Quasimodo was inexperienced in the ways of courtship, romance, love, and had wanted Madellaine to be completely assured of them, and totally comfortable.

She mirrored his quiet movements and brought her hands to either of his face and held him tenderly.

"Yes. I've never been surer of anything in my entire life, my friend. I—if you will have me," she smiled nervously, tears coming to her bright blue eyes. "Will you?" she asked, biting her bottom lip, and falling silent.

Quasi did not speak, at least not at first, though he drew Madellaine closer to him by way of his response, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her again, eager for another, for Madellaine to do it again.

He wanted more of her. She looked very much as he imagined he must look in the moment. Shocked. Confused, in a daze. But as he gazed at Madellaine, he was struck by something. A warm feeling deep inside of him, this feeling that he could not explain, but liked.

He truly liked it. Looking at Madellaine, seeing her. Feeling her. Kissing her. It gave him…peace. Happiness.

Feelings that, aside from the company Victor, Hugo, and Laverne gave him, that had never been made available to him before. Master Frollo made sure of it.

He tilted his head as he looked at her. Beautiful, he thought wildly. _Perfect…mine. Mine. Mine. All mine_.

He said it in his head over and over again like a mantra. It was the only one that came to mind as he looked at Madellaine, who'd started out as his friend.

And was now…something more. This warm feeling was so heavily rooted within, almost consuming him. He wished he had a word for it. The same mantra kept repeating in his mind until it was all he could think.

_Mine. Mine…all mine. No one else's. Not his. Just…_

_Mine._ He leaned down and placed his mouth to hers, his lips meeting hers with fervor, lost in her embrace.

Madellaine seemed to revel in his kiss as their kiss deepened, though the moment was quickly ruined by the harsh barking tone of Phoebus coming from the stairs, and the two quickly broke apart and looked round.

"If you two are _quite_ finished," he called out in annoyance, a truly evil smirk plastered on his face as he stood at the top rung of the ladder watching them, "can we _please_ get a move on? Can't you just…hold it in until _after_ we warn the woman that _I_ love she's in danger?"

Madellaine let out a breathy squeak as she quickly nodded her agreement, reaching up a trembling hand to tuck a wisp of her blonde hair back behind her ears.

She made to follow behind the captain without so much as a second glance back to Quasi, though the bell ringer swore that she was smiling widely to herself.

He stood there lingering in the bell tower a moment, watching Madellaine's and Captain Phoebus's silhouettes fade from his wretched line of sight as he pondered what the bloody hell had just happened to him just now.

Quasi gave his head a curt shake to clear it as his feelings of jealousy leaving Madellaine alone with Captain Phoebus resurface, and he came to his senses.

He did not hesitate as he followed after the young blonde woman who he now knew himself to be hopelessly and desperately very much in love with.


	31. The Hidden Entrance

**Hi all, and welcome back! :)**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One: The Hidden Entrance**

**THE** air just outside the front steps of Notre Dame de Paris was so brittle, that it could snap, and if it didn't, then Madellaine thought she just might. None of them spoke—what was there to say?

The unspoken tension lingered between the bell ringer and the captain like a brutal poison. The young blonde let out a slow controlled breath and attempted to loosen her body movements as she was the first one to take the first step off of the bottommost step of the cathedral and headed towards the direction of…wherever she was supposed to go to get to this Court of Miracles.

She gave her shoulders a wiggle and lolled her head in a circle, rolling her neck to crack it and ease the stiffness, let her stride slacken to a more casual pace. It was a decent enough effort, enough to fool the casual observer, but for any nosy onlookers peering out the shutters of their home, that possessed a keen eye, it was obvious that Madellaine de Barreau was a walking advert for her tensions.

Her bright blue eyes moved with the alertness that comes from heavy stress and her hands remained clenched around the strange woven band that Esmeralda had given her, by subconscious demand as she, Quasi, and Phoebus looked at it, with the men peering over her shoulder as she held the strange woven band up to her eye level to examine it better.

"What do you think it is?" She was the first to break the awkward silence and the tension between the two men and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the look of discourse between them. Madellaine knew better than most how tensions could mount rapidly if amends weren't made between these two, and fast, then they were going to have a serious problem.

Captain Phoebus rubbed this thumb and forefinger along the growing stubble inching its way on his jawline as he furrowed his dirty blond brows in intense concentration.

" _When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand_ …" Quasi whispered the words that Esmeralda had said to him and Madellaine in a hushed tone, mulling over the meaning of what it could mean in his mind.

Phoebus's hazel eyes lit up in his intrigue. "Could it be _magic_? I mean, Esmeralda is supposed to be a _sorceress_ …"

Though almost as quickly as his moment of triumph had come, it was replaced with a dawning look of horror and the injured captain did a strange little jig as if he thought that could protect himself, ending it with the sign of the Hail Mary across his chest. Madellaine pursed her lips into a thin line and her eyebrows shot so far up onto her forehead that they almost disappeared into her bangs.

Both the young blonde and the bell ringer exchanged an incredulous look of disbelief with one another before giving their heads a curt shake to clear their minds, forcing their attention to return to the strange woven band dangling precariously from Madellaine's fingertips. It really _was_ a strange little thing. Oval shaped and held together with twine and fishnet, from the looks of it.

A thick strand of blue string began at the top and snaked its way down before it then proceeded to break off into two separate strands, creating a blue outlined oval in the center of the strange woven band.

In the center of the said piece that Esmeralda had given to Madellaine before she'd been forced to flee the bell towers, was a large white cross to looked, to the young blonde, to be made of fishbone.

The thought made her crinkle her nose in disgust, though she continued examining the woven band as if just scrutinizing the piece as a whole would give them the answer they so desperately needed. On the outside of the blue oval, to the furthermost right edge, was a smaller cross, the only difference was it was black instead of white.

Phoebus furrowed his brows and peered over Madellaine's right shoulder, taking it a step further and having to rest his stubbled chin on her shoulder, a gesture which earned him a glowering look of daggers from the young hunchback, though the ex-military captain was completely oblivious to this, too engrossed in the band.

"Ah, yes, good, good, great," he muttered thoughtfully, squinting his eyes to get a better look at the woven band. "What is it?" he asked after a moment's pause of not being able to ascertain just what the said object was that Esmeralda gave to them.

Madellaine heaved a sigh of frustration and shook her head.

"I was hoping one of you could tell me. I haven't the faintest idea. Esmeralda gave it to me when you were bleeding out on the floor upstairs," she snapped in a disapproving tone that hinted the blonde still disapproved of how Phoebus was on his feet so soon after his surgery, but she made a sniffing noise through her nose and let it go for now, for which the captain was immensely grateful.

"Hmm. Maybe it's ancient Greek or Arabic?" Phoebus offered, stroking his goatee in a thoughtful, pensive manner.

Quasi furrowed his brows in contemplative thought and cocked his head to the side in order not to impede the vision of his one good eye, resisting the urge to growl in frustration as he carded back that one stubborn lock of his coarse red hair out of his line of sight that always tended to fall in front of his face, no matter what he did to tamper it back, and stared at it.

He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands, feeling his nails pierce the fabric of his leather hide gloves.

As he continued his silent examination of the woven band Esmeralda had given them, something within his chest sparked a realization, and he knew what they were looking at.

"It's a map, you two," Quasimodo offered in quiet understanding, and, before Esmeralda's soldier boy could respond, snatched the band out of the golden-haired captain's grasp and held it closer to his own face for further inspection.

"Eh? Do what now?" Phoebus sanguinely swiveled his head towards the bell ringer, while Madellaine merely looked thoughtful, though a light sparkled in her blue eyes.

Quasi nodded eagerly as he looked towards Phoebus and Madellaine. He had bloody done it, had figured it out!

"It's a _map_ ," he breathed in a low, hushed voice, as he wildly gesticulated to the white cross to emphasize his point. "See? The—the blue part around the edge of the cathedral, i—is the River Seine, and this white cross represents the cathedral, and then this little stone must be the—"

But before the bell ringer could dive further into his explanation, the captain angrily cut him off and interrupted, much to the younger man's growing rancor.

"I've never seen a map that looks like _this_!" shouted Phoebus, flinching as he realized how hoarse he sounded.

"Boys," Madellaine started to say, but the quiet susurrations of her sweet, shy tone were drowned out.

"Look, I've lived up in the bell tower for twenty years, and I think I know the city from above, and this is _it_!"

" _Boys_ ," Madellaine repeated, raising her voice just slightly, trying to ensure that she was heard over the rising voices that were rapidly turning into shouts from the men.

"I've been to battle on four continents, and I think I know what a bloody _map_ looks like when I see one, and this is not _it_!" roared Phoebus, leaning down and forward so that the tip of his tanned nose was touching Quasi's.

Without waiting for a response, Madellaine snatched the woven band from Phoebus's outstretched hand and slid the length of cord over her neck, and turned away for a moment as she tucked the length of cord down her dress.

The movement caused both the captain and the bell ringer's faces to blush bright crimson in embarrassment, and both men sighed heavily and pointedly averted each other's gazes, each feeling the mounting tension between them, and Phoebus quickly noted the young blonde's retreating silhouette disappearing quickly into the darkness and wanting to make amends to catch up to her, as Barreau held the only key to finding Esmeralda, spoke.

" _Fine_ ," Phoebus growled through clenched teeth. "If you say it's a map, then _fine_ , it's a map. But if we're all going to find Esmeralda in time to save her and her people, then we're going to have to work _together_ on this. A truce?"

Quasi kept his lips pursed into a thin line and his broad arms folded across firmly across his chest, though upon hearing the slight shift in the man's countenance, begrudgingly relented. The captain was right, damn him.

His cobalt blue eyes widened in shock as he quickly looked to his left and realized Madellaine vanished.

"She...she's _gone_. What…? Where…?" His breath caught in his throat and hitched as he swiveled on the heel of his leather boot and squinted into the darkness with his one good eye, straining to see through the pitch-blackness to see any sight of her.

For a moment, as his throat constricted at the fact that Madellaine had just up and disappeared, he felt a vent of adrenaline almost push him off the frontmost steps of Notre Dame de Paris without so much as a second thought to disobeying Master Frollo's orders, and then…there she was.

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging in relief as he finally caught sight of her fading silhouette, though if he and Phoebus didn't catch up to her, and fast, she was going to disappear, and the thought of her running into unsavory types without him by her side to protect her from such beasts did _not_ sit well with him.

"Well…" he began hesitantly, already knowing what his answer would be, and wanting the handsome soldier to stew in it for a moment before giving his answer. "Truce."

Though even as Quasi reluctantly spoke the words, he could not help how white-knuckled he was from clenching his fists to hard in his effort to restrain himself from lashing out at the captain, still not liking the looks he had caught him shooting Madellaine when he thought the girl wasn't looking. He gritted his teeth in an effort to remain silent, his hunched-over form exuded an animosity that was like poison—burning, slicing, and utterly potent.

His face drained of colors, almost bone-white with suppressed rage, and when he felt Captain Phoebus so much as even set a single finger on his good shoulder, he swung round on his heel and mentally snapped. His eyes narrowed as the soldier continued eyeing him in a way that Quasimodo was not at all sure what to make of at the moment.

He was tall and handsome, yes, but a pretty face was not going to let him so easily off the hook around him. His anger and jealousy getting the better of him, he closed off the gap of space between where the captain stood and himself. His voice lowered, almost to a whisper.

"Oh. I almost forgot. This is for you. A truce. An offering of peace."

Without even thinking, his arm shot out and decked his injured arm, a gesture which earned a pained scream from Phoebus by way of response, a sickly satisfying sound.

"Sorry," he growled through his clenched teeth, feeling a muscle in his jaw give a twitch as he raised the hood of his thick woolen navy blue cape up over his head to conceal the worst of his features.

Given he was once again defying his master's words and setting foot outside the cathedral, the least he could do was this time, ensure he wouldn't get caught. He could do that by hiding his face.

The former captain of the cathedral guard made an odd little strangled noise at the back of his throat and rolled his eyes as he clutched at his arm, his breaths coming to him in ragged, gasping pants as he bit down hard enough on his bottom lip to cause the skin to crack. It was a valiant effort to keep the scream that threatened to escape from his chest, throat, and lips.

When Captain Phoebus did manage to regain control of his voice, his tone was laced with such a trace of bitterness, that suddenly, Quasi wanted nothing more than to find Esmeralda and get this little farce of theirs over with.

"No, you're not," he grumbled to the redhaired bell ringer darkly under his breath, though the younger man appeared to not be listening. He quickened his pace in the effort to catch up to Master Frollo's former hearth keep.

Madellaine, her hearing sharp and her eyes like that of a hawk's, whirled around on the heel of her brown leather boot and glowered at both men, fed up with this pestilence and their petty behavior towards one another.

" _Quasi_!" she snapped, the edges of her voice hardened as she made a point to fold her arms across her chest as her normally kind sky-blue eyes narrowed distrustfully. "You didn't have to _hit_ him!" Madellaine cried.

Oh, _yes_ , he did. The captain had it coming. Quasi merely grunted wordlessly by way of response and ignored the blonde's truly admonishing gaze as she shook her head in disgust at his strange behavior, before turning away from her and ducking out from underneath the alcove the pair of men had been standing underneath, starting to limp and hobble his way slowly down the damp cobblestoned street.

Madellaine let out a tired sigh, clapping Phoebus on the back, careful to be mindful of his injuries, lagging behind with the soldier to ensure he could keep up with the physical demands of the walk that would take them towards the cemetery if she were to believe Quasi's word. Madellaine let out a tiny sigh as she chose to let it go for now and instead, opted to follow the man's lead, letting the bell ringer of Notre Dame lead the way towards the cemetery that lay on the outskirts of the edge of the city, silently sending up a prayer to God if He listened to her, that they weren't too late to save Esmeralda and her people.

* * *

With a startled yelp as the trio reached the iron-wrought gates of the cemetery, just off the Ile de la Cite, much to Madellaine's amazement, the young blonde let out a terrified squeak as she stumbled over what felt like a twisted tree root, and would have fallen forward flat on her face, possibly breaking her nose, was it not for Phoebus shooting out his arm to catch her fall.

Her thin brows shot so far up onto her forehead that they almost disappeared into her hairline as she looked around in disbelief.

"How on earth could this _possibly_ be the Court of Miracles? This has to be a mistake! Th—there's nothing here except a bunch of graves," Madellaine wondered out loud, her tone incredulous and bordering on disbelief as she felt a misshapen figure nudge beside her.

 _Quasi_ , she thought, feeling an affectionate smile snake its way onto her lips.

How she itched to feel how his lips moved in a kiss again, but now was not the time for it. Blinking owlishly as she realized what was happening, what she was doing to herself, she felt her cobalt piercing blue orbs widen and round with shock as he stood beside her.

Quasimodo merely grunted wordlessly in response, a darkening scowl flitting across his features as the golden-haired captain, without noticing the look of dawning anger on the bell ringer's face, wound his arm around Madellaine's and escorted her through the gates of the cemetery.

His blood surged and boiled within his veins as the familiar hot fire-spark of anger ignited and churned in the pit of his stomach at the sight of them together.

Though it was meant as a gesture of chivalry on Captain Phoebus de Chateauper's part, Quasi could not help but feel like he was reading in between the lines, and before the night was out, he was going to get the _truth_ from Esmeralda's soldier boy, like it or not. Quasi forced himself, albeit reluctantly, though still quite suspicious of the captain's intent towards his…his…

Here, the young man paused, faltering in his footsteps, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be looking for any signs of a black cross that would point them towards the entrance of the Court of Miracles. What exactly _was_ Madellaine to him, now?

They were certainly more than friends, now, if earlier was any indication that their relationship, their friendship, had now shifted the moment the young blonde dared to press her lips against hers in a passionate embrace he had only dreamed of, but she had made it a reality.

Certainly not a lover, though the kiss she had given him earlier suggested there was a possible potential for her to be if her words were true and honest and she _did_ want him in that way, as he had seen from high above how men wanted women, and women wanted men.

But the fact that such a celestial-like creature as Madellaine de Barreau could want a wretch like _him_ was unfathomable, almost unheard of, but he had no time to question it as she spoke.

"Quasi, I think I've found something!" came the soft susurrations of Madellaine's low, shy, quiet voice that flowed through the desolate cemetery like a soft wind.

The captain and Notre Dame's bell ringer were instantly at Judge Frollo's former hearth keep's side in a mere matter of seconds, with Quasimodo occasionally shooting Captain Phoebus distrustful looks at the sideways glances the soldier would cast the girl out of the corner of his eye whenever he thought Quasi not looking.

Phoebus took the torch from Quasi and raised his arm over the rather large mausoleum the trio now found themselves standing in front of. Madellaine's brows were knitted together, though the expression on her face was one of excitement as she silently lifted a finger, pointing.

"There," she whispered gently. There, casting a faint shadow in the dim amber glow of the torch in Phoebus's hand, carved intricately into the stone slab, was the same large black cross depicted on the woven band Esmeralda had given them. Quasi stood, dumbfounded.

They had found it! The Court of Miracles!

"This _has_ to be it, that's the cross from the pendant, but…how do we get _inside_?" Madellaine wondered out loud, leaning forward and pressing her hands over the top of the massive mausoleum, as though looking for a secret knob when pushed might reveal a hidden entrance.

Quasi opened his mouth to speak but was immediately interrupted by Phoebus opening his mouth, saving him the trouble of what he'd been about to say next, much to the redheaded bell ringer's annoyance.

"Lena, I think I may have found your answer," Phoebus muttered in a thoughtful sounding voice, his brows furrowed in intense concentration. "I think I can make out an inscription, just here," he murmured, allowing the pads of his rough, calloused fingertips to drift over the inscriptions on the tomb's engravings, black markings that Quasi nor Madellaine could not even begin to make sense of. "But it's going to take me a few moments to translate it…" Phoebus said, his voice trailing off.

Quasi wracked his brain for a different way in, not wanting to waste any further time than they already had.

He allowed his eyes to ghost over the surface of the mausoleum, and spotted something he'd not noticed before, something strange of how the slabs were cemented to the edges of the stone crypt, or rather, more importantly, how they were not cemented, and then it dawned on the young bell ringer that the reason the top of the mausoleum was not cemented and sealed firmly in place was that whoever had built this was not trying to keep whatever was inside in, they were allowing people—Esmeralda's people— _in_.

This was _it_. The Court of Miracles!

Doing some very quick thinking, Quasi closed his eyes, bracing himself against the left side of the lid, summoning only a little bit of his impressive strength that he had worked hard to repress over the years, thanks to over twenty years of ringing the proud, strong, massive iron and brass bells back home in his precious towers, and pushed the stone slab completely off the top of the coffin.

Phoebus and Quasi inched closer to the front for a better look, and all three of them were quite surprised that, instead of a corpse as they had fully expected to find, instead, in front of them at their feet lay a path of stone steps that led down, deep into the catacombs of Paris.

"O—or we could—we could just go down those steps," Phoebus stammered, coughing once to mask how flustered he felt at the revelation they had found it at last.

Madellaine let out a tiny squeak of awe and wonder as she leaned over Phoebus's shoulder to peer deep down into the darkness that awaited the three of them, a passive expression on her face. 

The young blonde tried in vain to keep the trepidation off her face, though she felt herself scrunch her nose in disgust, not wanting to admit she didn't like the looks of the endless abyss below, her desire to warn Esmeralda of her and her peoples' impending doom was greater than her fear of the dark.

She had no other choice. Madellaine sighed, blowing out a breath of air that materialized as a puff of cold vapor in front of her lips.

Then, without so much as a word to either Quasimodo or Phoebus, shoved her way past the captain by ducking underneath the Sun God's shoulder, while trying not to jostle his arm in its sling in the process, and descended down into the darkness, not even bothering to snatch the torch out of Phoebus's hand while doing so, much to the bell ringer's shock and growing anger as he shot out an arm to stop Madellaine, and barely grazed the sleeve of her dress by a fraction of an inch. He felt his temper surge and threaten to implode.

"Madellaine!" he admonished, both in shock and disapproval at the brazenness and boldness of her actions.

To say that he did not care for the fact that the young blonde had not waited for either him or Phoebus, did not sit well at all with him. He curled his shaking hands into fists at his sides to keep himself from lashing out at something, which in this case, would be Phoebus.

And considering his mood towards the captain, how he was eyeing Madellaine, he'd be all too happy to hit the man again where he stood, right in his injured arm. 

If he strained his voice to hear, he could hear Madellaine's voice wafting from somewhere in the darkness, up the stairwell, and lingering in his eardrums.

"Aren't you coming?" she shouted, though her voice sounded faint and muffled. "Esmeralda's _waiting_!"

Her voice, if Quasi was not mistaken, as he shot an incredulous look towards Captain Phoebus, who, he was briefly pleased to see, was looking just as stunned, sounded highly annoyed that the men hadn't yet followed.

Phoebus scowled and furrowed his brows into a frown as he stood step next to Quasimodo, clearly disapproving of her actions as well, though a dark little chuckle escaped his lips as the wind tousled his blond hair off his shoulders and pinked his cheeks with cold.

"You should consider yourself lucky to have Madellaine as a friend, boy. She's becoming quite a good friend of mine, too."

Quasi gave a jump at the handsome captain's words and as Phoebus made a motion to follow the young blonde down the stone steps, he himself was hardly aware that his arm had shot out of his own accord and caught the man by his right arm before he could make the move to follow her.

Phoebus froze as Quasi stood with him, and Quasi felt the familiar hot spark of anger and jealousy and could not help but read between the lines at Phoebus’s comment just now, nor had he missed the way that Phoebus's hazel eyes had softened when he'd said Madellaine's name. Quasi felt his throat as it hallowed.

Quasi did not know exactly what the recipe was in his cauldron of boiling feelings towards his rather unfounded jealousy of Phoebus and Madellaine.

Shame? Pride? Guilt? Quasi sighed heavily and earned the courage to meet his companion's hardened gaze, Phoebus's eyes dark at the rims, his pupils contracting in the darkness of night.

"Wait. A moment. There's...something I have to ask you, Captain. I…I want to know," Quasi began awkwardly, "what your…feelings are, your intentions are towards Madellaine, Phoebus. If I could ask," he continued gravely.

Quasi watched as Phoebus's stoically cold face towards his companion's behavior of him settled into what Quasi could only perceive as one of venom as Phoebus scowled at Quasi.

"Why do I get the feeling I already know what you're going to ask?" Phoebus growled, almost sounding dog-like as his brows knitted together in concern and he shook his head in disgust.

He glanced towards the pitch-black sky and threw his arms out in exasperation.

"There's no need for this, boy, this petty jealousy of yours towards your friend does not become you. Nothing is there between Madellaine and me," Phoebus wildly protested, his tone sounded clipped and hard, his voice carrying an obvious edge to it now.

Quasi's own frown deepened, but he continued to maintain his tight, ironclad grip on Phoebus's arm and held him under his piercing, cerulean-blue eyes, fixing the captain with a rather admonishing, scrutinizing gaze.

"Somehow, that's not _convincing_ enough for me to believe you…" Quasi growled the words as they escaped his lips and bit the inside wall of his cheeks and watched as Phoebus's face paled in shock, a look of utter disbelief and outrage on the half of his face that Phoebus could see that was illuminated by the torch that he was holding onto.

Phoebus let out a sigh of exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though fighting off the beginnings of a splitting headache.

He raked his hands through his thick tuft of dark shoulder-length blond hair and groaned in exhaustion.

"I promise you right here and now, Quasi, and I would promise this until the end of time if I must, that there is nothing between Madellaine and I. She. Is. My. Friend. What exists between Madellaine and me is purely friendship, Quasimodo. Nothing more, and nothing less than that. If you _want_ her, then _keep_ her. She is willing to wait for you, don't you get it? But you're too blind and bloody foolish to acknowledge that fact for yourself. You're the only one who says you can't have a normal life, but it could not be further from the truth, Quasi. You can have one if you want it, but you've got to be willing to fight for it. For her. That woman down there is your chance, Quasimodo, but if you could see it. Take it," he emphasized darkly, watching as Quasi's light blue eyes narrowed in shock.

Quasi barely stifled the low warning growl that the monster within his chest was developing as a low rumble deep within the confines of his chest. 

In truth, he was still finding it incredibly difficult to believe a word Phoebus was saying to him.

He needed the truth from the captain like he needed air. 

Madellaine had told him repeatedly that there was nothing on her side of things, and it was not the young woman's integrity that he doubted, but that of this man in front of him that currently possessed Esmeralda's heart.

A fact that he reviled and hated, but he could not help these feelings.

"I want the _truth_ , Phoebus, right now," Quasi growled threateningly, baring his teeth, and leaning in so that the tip of his nose was practically touching Phoebus's. "Whether you're a friend or not, are your intentions towards my friend, Phoebus? Or—or have you just been…using her this whole time to satiate your _urges_? I know soldiers like you, what you _really_ want. You'd truly wed Esmeralda but bed _her_?" he snarled, jerking his head towards the stairwell, referring to Madellaine. "Are you really that _pathetic_?" he shouted.

Phoebus was looking as though Quasi had hit him, for his face rapidly drained of color so fast and he swayed on the spot where he stood, that for a split second, Quasi thought Phoebus might fall upon hearing his accusation.

He was looking absolutely repulsed by the mere suggestion from his companion that he would even consider using such words against him.

And then suddenly, Phoebus was the one leaning into him, a look of utter rage on his face. When he spoke, his voice had lowered an octave as he seethed, growing red in the face.

"This jealousy of yours over Madellaine had gone on long enough, boy. Do you even _hear_ your words? Are you even listening to yourself?! You stand there and dare to tell me to my face that I have nothing but honest intentions towards that girl? Has no one here thought to ask Madellaine what it is that she wants?" Phoebus growled, taking a half-step back away from Quasi, and Quasi, who felt his own face grow ashen and beads of sweat formed on his brow as his skin pulled taut and tight with rage. "Not what you or her family wants for her. What. She Wants."

Phoebus stepped further away from Quasi and wrenched his arm out of Quasi's grasp rather violently, shaking his head immensely, as though disappointed in Quasi's lack of response.

"I would have thought that would have been obvious. Have you talked to her?"

"What are you talking about?" Quasi growled, feeling a sudden shift within himself as the worst of his anger towards the golden-haired soldier boy dissipated and was immediately replaced with confusion at the question Phoebus had just posed to him.

Phoebus was staring at Quasi with such an incredulous look in his light hazel eyes, glistening with unshed moisture that was not that of tears, but a silent fury.

Their argument was growing cold and stale. Every word over-pronounced, slicing rather than tumbling through the air as the winds of this strangely cold night, blew Quasi's bangs away from his face.

The respect between the two men had not gone, it had merely been distorted, and Phoebus and Quasi both knew that unless they were able to come to an agreement here and now, then this disagreement would inevitably prevent them from understanding one another.

Phoebus practically bristled in anger, puffing out his chest slightly as he moved to head back down the stairwell that would hopefully lead them to the Court of Miracles, and more importantly, to Esmeralda.

"It's bloody freezing out here, let's hurry up and follow her," he grumbled darkly under his breath. "And it's not my place to speak on such matters, Quasimodo," Phoebus answered, albeit rather stiffly, his facial muscles tense as his jaw locked up and he ground his teeth in anger. "The answer to your questions is down there, currently heading towards the Court of Miracles," he snapped coldly, jerking towards the waiting stairwell with his thumb.

Quasi did not know what to say in that regard, so he favored silence as the only apt response.

"We can't decide what kind of man you're going to be for you, Quasi. You have to decide that for _yourself_ ," he added sadly, as he opened the door, one hand on the doorway's frame to steady himself as he glanced back towards his best friend. "One of these days you're going to have to make a choice, and God Himself help you when that time comes. I can only hope you'll make the right choice: her. Madellaine is the one you need to be discussing this with, Quasimodo. Not _me_ , my friend…"

Quasi watched as the man turned his back on him and promptly walked down the stairwell without so much as another cutting remark towards him, calling after Lena.

But he also knew that in more ways than one, Phoebus was right. 

What had Phoebus meant by his words? That he needed to start making his own decisions? To choose what he wanted out of life and not let his condition make those calls for him? Was that it?

He had come to the firm belief that no woman would ever grow to care for him, but Madellaine had. Madellaine had accepted unfailingly every fiber of his being.

And she did not seem to care that he was a monster, never mind that he thought she was undermining the dangerous nature of his horrible affliction, his parents' wickedness that he had been cursed with right at birth.

Quasi heard himself emanate a tense exhale and he let out a frustrated groan, raking his gloved hands through his thick tuft of red hair and stalked his way down the steps.

"I must be out of my mind to even _consider_ doing this to her…"

As Quasi stomped his way down the stairwell, he swore he caught snippets of a conversation between Madellaine and Phoebus. 

He flinched and swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying and feeling like he was failing to ignore the rapid-fire of jealousy welling within the pit of his stomach.

All the reasons _not_ to do this came flooding in as if his body chemistry had just sent them all a blanket invitation.

He could feel the soft panic that would grow or fade depending on what he did next, what he chose to say to Madellaine, if and when they would ever have a moment to themselves again.

It would fade if he backed away, but then he would have to do this all over again. Quasi scowled as he felt a muscle twitching involuntarily at the corner of his left eye, his mouth forming a rigid grimace.

This fitfully cold night following their conversation would spell out the conclusion they both needed.

Phoebus was right, and _damn_ the man to the seven hells below where he belonged, for being right in this regard.

He needed to find out what it was that Madellaine wanted. If she wanted him…and just the thought of what her answer would be was enough to send a tremor of uncertain fear down the poor man's spine.

And her answer that she gave him would either see the dawn of something new begin or snap his dreams in two. He sighed, feeling like he could stall no longer as he hurried to catch up with the young woman who he now knew himself to be hopelessly and desperately in love with, like it or not.

It was time to find out what _she_ wanted…


	32. The Court of Miracles

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: THE COURT OF MIRACLES**

**A** horrible smell assaulted Madellaine's flaring nostrils as she crinkled her nose in disgust, trying not to glance down at the base of the catacombs beneath her brown leather boots, trying not to think of the fact that she was essentially wading deep in grey water full of bodily fluids and shit and other things she would rather not dwell on.

She stirred, trudging onward, and forcing herself to wake her consciousness.

The underground catacombs of Paris. Cobblestone walls. Remnants of skeletons, nothing but bones that were too stubborn to crumble to dust. A pile of armor on the blood-stained ground tucked away in the corner that she tried not to look at much.

Though her fingers wandered up and drifted around the woven pendant she wore about her neck, and the corners of the young blonde's lips curled upward into a smile, finally remembering where she was, and why she and the two men came.

She twisted her neck and found Notre Dame's bell ringer pensively staring at her, Captain de Chateaupers not far behind the younger, red-haired man. Madellaine furrowed her brows together in a frown when she noticed Quasi's thoughts looking like they were sending his mind insane, plummeting the man into a sea of utter melancholy.

At first, she chalked it up to the mounting stress she was sure, yes, she was sure, was welling within all of them at the ambiguity of not knowing if they were too late to save Esmeralda and the others, but the girl could sense as she looked upon his gaze, hardened and slightly forlorn, that something else ailed him. Madellaine felt a stab of fear prick at her heart upon seeing how melancholy the man looked.

"Sleeping with eyes open?" she questioned, a slight teasing lilt to her tone as she reached up a hand to touch his face, her fingernails gliding from the bottom of his one good eye towards his lips, allowing the pads of her fingertips to just barely ghost over them, a gesture that elicited a light tremor down Quasi's spine.

The man scanned her form politely enough, though there was a deep solemnity in his pale blue orbs, an intensity the young woman did not know what to make of. His red coarse hair almost felt like thick straw between her fingers, and her smile widened as the man breathed in her scent as he drew closer, turning his head to the side to cough and clear his throat, a light pink blush speckling along his cheeks.

"I was…um…thinking," he mumbled under his breath. "Why…why did you…?"

Madellaine's frown deepened. "Are you all right?" she asked with no small amount of concern laced throughout her quiet voice, trying, and feeling like she was utterly failing to not notice Phoebus lurking at a close enough range behind Quasi to eavesdrop fully on what she believed was otherwise a private conversation.

Her face fell, crestfallen, when the man shook his head at her, slowly bowing it. That one same stubborn lock of his fiery ginger hair never ceased to fall in front of his eyes, more specifically his one good eye, shielding it from her line of view.

Madellaine sighed and did not hesitate to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his broad middle before reaching up and pulling back slightly to study his face, resting both of her hands on the man's shoulders, and giving them a squeeze.

"What are you thinking, Quasi?" she whispered, desperately searching his gaze for the truth. "Tell me what's wrong," Madellaine implored, biting her lip. She was practically begging him now, pleading for Quasimodo to answer whatever was running through his ragged mind. "What's bothering you, Quasi? Talk to me."

"Madellaine, I... this isn't fair," he sighed, a muscle in his jaw hardening and giving a pointed look to the young woman as his expression hardened slightly as he looked upon her, his pale blue-grey orbs developing a toughened, flashing steel that briefly reminded the girl of Frollo, and this little thought practically sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. "You don't…" He paused, seemingly unsure of his words and wracking his brain for the right thing to say to the young blonde hearth keep who awaited his answer. "You don't deserve this," Quasi finished at last, unable to keep the note of bitterness from seeping into his tone as he gestured towards himself, tugging on a lock of his red hair in the process.

He pursed his lips into a thin, unmovable line and exhaled a slightly shaking breath, forcing himself to continue.

"I don't deserve you," he finished at last, stammering and tripping over his words as his blush deepened. "You are _different_. Despite knowing what a _monster_ I am, you still stay by my side. Someone so beautiful does not deserve the hardships I would bring you, Madellaine. You should stop this facade. Look for someone opposite what I am. One who isn't a _monster_ like me. One who will care for you and provide for you in a way that I will never be able. I cannot go outside the bell tower, I would _never_ be accepted into society, you _saw_ the way the people treated me at the festival, what happened," he muttered, a soft, sad smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward, though the gesture was forced, strained, and did not meet his eyes.

Anger rose within Madellaine, but she stomped it back down, though not with Quasimodo and hearing his words, but at the Judge, for Frollo instilling the belief in the man's heart and mind that he was utterly worthless.

"And if I _don't_ want? You would truly try to keep me from being with you, Quasi? You would _do_ that to me?!" she challenged hotly, an edge to her voice that subtly warned Notre Dame's bell ringer not to contest against her wishes. As if to emphasize her point, Madellaine reached for the man's gloved hand and gave it a squeeze. "What if…what if all that I want, is right here in front of me?" Madellaine whispered, swallowing down hard past the hard lump in her throat.

She could feel Quasi give a start at her words, but whatever he had been about to say was drowned out by the sound of Captain Phoebus abruptly clearing his throat, making a disgruntled sounding noise at the back of his throat, causing the young couple's heads to collectively whiplash upward and regard the ex-soldier with equal looks of annoyance on their faces at the perfectly timed interruption.

He looked none too pleased to see the two standing off to the side, conversing in the dark when they all could be heading through the catacombs in search of the Court of Miracles and Esmeralda, given by the way he pursed his thin lips.

"So sorry to break up this touchingly _intimate_ moment," Phoebus snapped in a voice that did not sound sorry at all, the edges of his voice hardened and impatient. "But could we get a move on, you two, _please_?"

Quasi furrowed his brows in a frown, merely grunting wordlessly in response as he motioned for Phoebus to go on ahead as he gripped tightly onto Madellaine's hand, purposefully walking behind the captain, wanting to continue their conversation uninterrupted by Phoebus.

"You were saying, Quasi?" Madellaine whispered in a hushed voice, having to lean in slightly so that her head almost rested against his slightly misshapen shoulder.

Hoping to provide some small semblance of comfort, she gave his gloved hand a light, reassuring squeeze that she did not bother to stifle her smile as he returned it.

"H— _how_?" he whispered, careful to keep his voice low. "A—and _why_?" he asked, a slight urgency to his tone now.

The young blonde furrowed her brows upon hearing how desperate the man's soft, tenor-like tones sounded.

The very idea that he did not see himself as worthy disturbed Madellaine, if the stricken look on her face was any indication that she hoped she was showing the man that she was upset with the question he had just posed.

"Why _wouldn't_ I? You truly hold such a low opinion of yourself?" she fired back, not missing a beat. "You're a kind man, Quasi, even when you do not have to be, to people who do not even deserve it," she added in a low growl, and it did not take an intellectual scholar present in the catacombs alongside them for Quasi to know Madellaine was thinking of Master Frollo in the moment. "You're are a kind man. With a pure, pure heart, and a beautiful smile, a handsome enough face, despite your…differences," she finished, somewhat lamely as she did not let her gaze linger over the contusion above his brow too long. "And that is the thing that makes you beautiful in my mind. Why I like you. I like you a _lot_. And I never…" she paused, biting down on her lip, seemingly struggling to find her words. "I never want to hurt you. And…"

Her voice cracked and broke as she swallowed down thickly past a lump in her throat, trying again. A pang of worry wormed its way into the pit of Quasi's churning stomach, suddenly not liking the way the young blonde was looking.

"There's something th—that I have to tell you, if we…if we're going to…to court one another, I—if that's even something you want, my friend," she began hesitantly, swallowing hard. "Phoebus and I are—" she started to say but was interrupted by the sound of a commotion coming from up above, near _him_.

"Can we get _going_ , you two?" Phoebus barked in a rough, coarse, and hoarse voice. "We've lingered long enough. It's almost daybreak. I don't _like_ this. The fact that it's too quiet down here suggests we should have run into something by now. Some kind of trouble," he hissed.

"Like what?" Madellaine whispered, unable to keep the note of fear from seeping unbidden to the surface of her voice, and she felt grateful she was holding Quasi's hand.

"Oh, you know. Trouble. _Guards_. A—a booby trap or—" but Phoebus's voice was promptly cut off by what sounded like the gush of a sudden gust of cold winter air as the door behind them suddenly burst open. "Or an ambush," he finished dryly, and then all hell broke loose.

A harsh, grating voice that sounded rough rent the otherwise silent air, cutting off what Madellaine had been about to say next, and she cursed whatever it was for their truly impeccable timing, though her blood curdled and froze, turning to ice in her veins as a man's voice reached her eardrums.

"Hold still, soldier. No use fighting me, all of you are outnumbered by several of us…" came the man's cold voice.

Madellaine froze. Oh, _damn_. Her blue eyes widened in shock and awe. It would appear they had found the Court of Miracles.

"Quasi?" she whispered, careful to keep her voice low, though she quickly forwent all attempts to keep her presence a secret the moment she felt a strong hand grip onto her forearm, roughly tearing her away from the bell ringer of Notre Dame before the man could even blink.

"Not quite, wench," growled a familiar-sounding voice, and Madellaine felt her eyes go wide and round as she stared straight up into the eyes of Monsieur Clopin Trouillefou himself, the self-proclaimed king of the Romani people and his guarded Court of Miracles. He looked down a slender, if not slightly crooked nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two in a fight. "How _kind_ of you to join us, little dove. My, but you _are_ a pretty little thing, aren't you, dear?" Clopin crooned, reaching up a hand to cup Madellaine's jaw with his palm.

Unable to breathe, poor Quasimodo felt his jaw drop open in shock, and he turned questioning, glaring, and narrowed blue eyes towards the self-proclaimed king, realizing the man had set the three of them up to be caught.

This had all been an ambush, a trap as Phoebus had jokingly referred to earlier, but he had been right. There was a cold, smoldering burning rage in the man's eyes Quasi recognized, having seen the familiar look more than once in Master's eyes. Quasi knew then that this man meant to complete that which he feared the most.

The king's plan was to kill them all, as he had seen the way he had looked at Madellaine and Phoebus, and now him. He and their people did not take kindly to intruders wandering uninvited to the Court of Miracles.

His sorrowful, fearful gaze fell mournfully upon Madellaine's face, as the young blonde was wrenched violently away from him. Unable to fight against him any longer, her expression now held the same dread that Quasi's face did, or was sure did, if he looked in a mirror.

It was as if she knew what was about to happen, as if she had been waiting for it. The look on her face was heart wrenching and caused a coil in his gut to twist.

Madellaine grunted and struggled against the man's firm hold and let out a terrified squeak as she felt a blindfold being placed around her eyes, Quasi's face the last thing she focused on. The bell ringer, for his part, stared straight ahead of him, unable to tear his gaze away from Madellaine, as she struggled and fought against her captor as much as she could, though it did her no good.

He turned his piercing gaze towards the peoples' king and realized that this was all planned. He'd set them up.

The dark-haired king of the Romani's, Clopin, Quasimodo heard one of the man's comrades call him, turned towards Notre Dame's bell ringer, and coldly regarded Judge Frollo's ward, a sniff of disapproval heard exiting through his flaring nostrils like that of a bull's.

"Did you really think I did not _know_ , _wretch_?" he asked Quasi rhetorically in what Quasimodo assumed was meant to be portrayed as a casual, nonchalant tone. "I have spies everywhere," he confessed, gesturing towards the people surrounding him with a wide, sweeping flourish of his arms. "Nothing happens in Paris that I do not know about. I know you," he growled through gritted teeth, ignoring Madellaine's pained gasp of surprise as his fingers curled tightly into a fist around her left forearm. Clopin crinkled his nose in disgust. "The mug on you, boy. You're the Judge's pet _hunchback_ , aren't you? A _spy_. Wretched demon that you are, it's all you're good for, aren't you?" he snarled in a voice devoid of warmth and compassion towards the red-haired hunchback shooting him a look of daggers.

Madellaine grunted and attempted to shove the man's arm off her by tugging futilely at her trapped arm through her gritted teeth, but it simply wasn't working. It was not enough to free herself from the men who held her bound, her arms wrenched behind her back and now she was blindfolded, effectively preventing her from seeing where the Romani was leading them towards.

He opened his mouth to protest, though he too had little if any time at all to react before he was blinded.

Gales of violent firelight flickered beyond his blindfold, little more than a torn piece of fabric from someone's tunic now wrapped around his eyelids. The air smelled wet, carrying stenches of things he'd rather not smell, and his footsteps, alongside Madellaine's, echoed. Quasi had no time to see if Phoebus too had been blindfolded and was being escorted towards God only knew where this strange vagabond and his men were taking him. By reflex, Quasimodo reached out a gloved hand to grope for his bearings, and his hand banged into something that felt suspiciously like muddied, hard dirt.

For a moment, Quasi felt horrifically guilty. He had done this. Placed Madellaine in harm's way tonight. He should have—he should have _insisted_ she stay behind.

 _She was a young woman incapable of taking orders anything other than was absurdly literally_ , Quasi thought. _If I told her to jump off a bridge, she would_.

Quasimodo lost track of how long Clopin and his men led them further down this dank, moldy tunnel through the catacombs of Paris, but it wasn't more than fifteen minutes, at best. Then the air had grown cold and damp, and he could hear a man upfront barking orders in rapid fire French that they were drawing closer to the Court.

The smell was changing. Quasi took a deep whiff. He could make out the smells of steel, sweat, and leather, and over all of that, what smelled to him like…like…burning.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw firelight, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Madellaine…."

"Q—Quasi?" he heard her stammer. "I—I'm so _sorry_ …" Her voice broke and cracked as she fought back tears.

Quasi made a clumsy grab for his blindfold with shaking, gloved hands. Her hands, surer than his as the procession of men leading the way halted to a stop, caught them out of the way and untied the knot at the back of his head, trembling. He felt his blood chill to ice.

Madellaine's afraid. Somehow, that thought alone more than anything else unnerved more than whatever else could follow this, given they had found the presumed Court of Miracles, and hopefully, La Esmeralda as well.

Every animal instinct Quasi possessed was screaming at him to grab Madellaine and Phoebus and turn the hell around and go back to the sanctuary of the cathedral.

Madellaine shakily pulled away the rest of Quasi's blindfolds, her own blindfold having been removed, and Quasimodo stood blinking owlishly in some underground chamber. Roots writhed through the walls, the floor was little more than hard-packed dirt and mud and stones.

And waiting for the trio who had come to warn Esmeralda and her people, standing in a half-circle, silent and stone faced, were members of Clopin's court, with the man himself standing dead front and center of it all.

Phoebus's deep baritone split the awkward, heavy silence as Madellaine nervously shifted her footing from one foot to the other, daring to inch as close to Quasimodo as she could without drawing attention to herself.

"My good men," he began, bowing his head as a show of utmost respect. He swallowed down thickly, trying again, and his kind hazel eyes widened slightly at the sight of the gallows just behind the trio of Romani men. "What a…pleasant _surprise_. Had I known this was a court appearance, I would have brought finer attire to my own _hanging_ , monsieurs," he continued, his tone laced with mocking.

"Spare us, soldier," growled the man to Clopin's immediate left, a burly, brown-bearded man with red, weathered skin and a stained dark brown cloak. "You lot are here on trial all right. Save for the girl. She's cute enough, our boys can _use_ a woman like her." He either remained oblivious or had seen it and was choosing to ignore how his comment caused Madellaine's already pale face to drain of colors, rendering her pallid. He pressed on and continued speaking, ignoring the girl. "But everyone knows what the outcome is," he sneered, crinkling his nose in disgust as he turned his wrathful gaze to Quasi. "What should we do with them, Clopin?"

"It's not much of a trial then, is it, gentlemen, if we know the outcome of said trial, is it?" Phoebus snapped, glancing around disdainfully, looking over his shoulder towards Quasi and Madellaine, slumping his shoulders.

No sign of Esmeralda. God be damned. Trying to find his future bride was like trying to catch wisps of smoke with his bare hands. But he would try. God be damned, he would try until his dying breath, be that tonight or a hundred years from now.

He resisted the urge to allow himself to sigh in an unrestrained fashion as he swiveled his head back around and fixed Clopin with a pointed stare, pursing his lips into a thin, unmovable, rigid line.

"Let us go, sir. We mean you no harm. The three of us came here to warn you. Frollo and his men are coming."

Clopin's darkened gaze narrowed until his eyes were mere slits, reminding Madellaine of a snake's slit-like pupils. He gave a jerking motion in Madellaine's direction with a curt jerk of his head and a single command. "Bring her." He snapped his fingers irately.

Still held forcefully by the men, Madellaine was escorted the final distance to stand before Clopin and the others upon the guard holding her being on the receiving end of a particularly admonishing, wilting stare from his king that would have held the power to wilt a fully-bloomed flower. Upon reaching the king's gaze, the burly beast who had a hold of Madellaine's right arm, jerked the young blonde woman forward and threw her to the ground in order to show the proper reverence to the king.

Madellaine landed on the ground with a painful yelp, catching the worst of her fall with her wrists. Looking up in a dazed haze through her suffering, her blue eyes caught Quasi's as the red-haired bell ringer let out a bellow of agony and rushed forward, his gloved hands balled into fists, ready to defend the woman who he had grown to care for, to the death if need be, ready to kill.

Before Quasi could reach for Madellaine, or Phoebus for that matter, who held an equally outraged look on his handsome face, two more Romani men rushed ahead, and halted Notre Dame's bell ringer's progress with their swords pointed squarely at his heart and at his chest.

Quasi stopped breathlessly, knowing he would be of no help to Barreau if the men ran him through cleanly. He let out a low warning growl from deep within his chest, memorizing every detail of the man's face who had just harmed Madellaine. He'd not live to see the sun rise.

With great effort, cradling her now-injured hand, Madellaine finally managed to push herself to her knees. Anxiously, Madellaine forced herself into a kneeling position in front of the king of the Romani people, a vagabond, a street rat, this monsieur Clopin de Trouillefou, her hand tense as it cradled her injured wrist. Her frightened stare held Clopin's hardened gaze fearfully, for the power she knew the man had over them, if judging by the horrid sight of the gallows behind Clopin was any indication of what they did to intruders.

Yet, Madellaine's fierce sky-blue eyes also held contempt, the likes of which Quasimodo had not seen in the young woman before since their weeks of knowing one another during her claim to sanctuary back home.

They held a hatefulness at Clopin Trouillefou's contempt and cruelty at what he and his men were doing to them, when the three of them had merely come to warn them of the impending danger of Frollo's arrival.

For a moment, Quasi's pride felt like it burst in his chest. There was a prideful fire within Madellaine's heart.

He knew she would fight to the end for her life. So, would he. It was then, however, that he realized the young blonde would not dare to bring her gaze to his.

Madellaine said nothing as Clopin grinned at her mockingly. She merely continued to kneel, staring in silence, and waiting for the king of the Romani's to speak. However, moments passed, and it was only when she was viciously poked in the shoulder by the point of one of the men's sword that goaded Madellaine into answering.

" _King_ ," she answered flatly, unsure of how properly to address the man who currently held their lives in his hands. Quasi flinched, hearing a horrible dread in the young woman's sweet susurrations, her kind, shy voice. Madellaine swallowed hard and blinked owlishly as she noticed Clopin's gaze drift to Phoebus.

"Mmm. I trust your time down here in our Court as our guest has been…" Here, he paused to look condescendingly towards Quasimodo and let out a growl of frustration and ire that the bell ringer felt he did not deserve, "…adequate enough. For a bunch of _traitors_."

Again, Madellaine said nothing, though Quasi swore he caught a speckle of a light blush flit across her cheeks.

"Let's get on with this," Clopin snarled to his men in a rhetorical manner. He took a cautious half-step forward and clasped his hands together in front of his middle in an authoritative, business-like fashion and glowered towards Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers. "Captain. You are hereby charged with theft, sir," he proclaimed in a clipped and curt tone, his voice agitated and angered.

" _What_?!" Phoebus's handsome face twisted, contorting into a pained grimace. Clopin ignored him, directing his address solely to Phoebus, but his gaze continuously kept flitting towards Madellaine's blue eyes, as though searching for something within the young woman's eyes.

"You, _soldier_ , have _stolen_ something very dear to me," Clopin continued in a raised voice, glancing quickly towards the back of the crowd that had by now, gathered around the strange scene before them as their king addressed the group of trespassers. "Something that I fear I shall now never enjoy returned to me," Clopin charged, sounding more wounded than the man did angered.

Quasi blinked, swiveling his gaze from Phoebus towards Madellaine, utterly confused and at a loss.

Phoebus, however, remained steadfast and unabashed in his resolve, but before he could open his mouth to speak, a woman's voice, a familiar husky, low tone, rent through the crowd's murmurings, though when she spoke, the entire Court of Miracles fell suddenly silent.

"Phoebus did not _steal_ anything, Clopin," Esmeralda announced, causing Quasi's heart to leap up into his throat. He heard Madellaine exhale a shaking sigh of relief as he briefly turned around back to the front to regard her where she still knelt onto the floor in front of Clopin. And as Esmeralda continued to shove her way to the front of the crowd, after much 'excuse me's and pardon me's,' she emerged, panting, clutching a stitch in her side, having run all the way from the back of the crowd.

It was then that Quasimodo realized what she meant. She had meant her heart. Phoebus had stolen away Esmeralda's heart, and Clopin wanted her back.

"It was freely given," Esmeralda corrected, her dark, delicately shaped, and arched brows coming together in a frown as she surveyed the unusual scene before her. "It was _always_ Captain Phoebus's," she whispered, lowering her voice as she looked towards Phoebus lovingly, who lowered his eyes and looked away, striding forward to help Madellaine up off the ground, still kneeling by Clopin, cradling her injured wrist as though broken.

Madellaine was panting heavily as well, though from the exertion of having to catch her fall from being violently shoved forward and landing on her poor wrist.

Quasi let out another warning growl as he violently shoved away the arm of one of the Romani men clutching at his arm and grunted as he shoved the larger man backward, not giving a damn as he heard his head hit the ground with a sickening thud and a bone crunch loudly.

He didn't care anymore. He wanted Madellaine and no man, nomad, Romani, or even one of Frollo's men, was going to keep him from reaching her side. He didn't bother to stifle the small smile as he watched out of the corner of his one good eye as Phoebus did not hesitate to embrace Esmeralda in a tight embrace, not seeming to want to let her go.

He supposed on a lesser level, he could now relate. Madellaine stiffened, rooted to her spot as Quasi instinctively reached for her hand, recoiling at the gesture, letting out a hiss of pain as his thumb grazed over the surface of the top of her hand.

She pivoted at the waist and stood there in shock and surprise, not sure how to place the current expression Quasimodo currently wore. It was a mixture of concern, fear, and something foreign, something the young blonde couldn't quite place.

"Please let _go_ of my arm, Quasi, i—it's _fine_. _Really_ ," she urged, though she barely managed to repress the scream of pain and had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. The young woman was corrupted with fear towards the bell ringer now was tending to her wrist delicately, almost like a friend or lover would help.

Through his movements, Madellaine could still smell the hesitation that reeked out from the man's gestures, the little furtive glances that he shot Madellaine.

Quasi ignored her command, not relinquishing his hold on the small appendage as he deftly began to unravel the bandage and examine her wrist tenderly.

Her new partner gazed down at it as if he found it to be the most interesting thing in the whole world. He even took a second to run his thumb over a scar just above her first knuckle.

"Does it hurt?" he asked in a much more subdued voice than before, which Madellaine thought strange, but had no time to question it. "Those men, that guard, he almost _killed_ you," he growled, turning his gaze away as he re-wrapped her bandages.

Madellaine hesitated and looked down at her wrist for a moment, considering it. "I don't _think_ it's broken, but it does hurt, especially when I move it around. I thought earlier I—I might have broken it when I fell, I think, but it looks better than it feels, Quasimodo, so let it alone. I think my shoulder might be dislocated though," Madellaine added with an afterthought, as though that little injury she had sustained during her fall a moment ago and overlooked was information barely worth mentioning.

Quasi blinked owlishly at this strange young creature, wondering how she could be so calm and blasé about an injury that was causing her immense pain.

It was disconcerting to him, troubling how Madellaine's level of concern for her own well-being was so rapidly deleting, like she didn't even care.

"You're lucky he didn't _kill_ you, Madellaine!" he snarled through gritted teeth, his temper swelling to the surface as for some reason, visions of Frollo’s face, Father, flitted through the forefront of his mind. "How the hell can you be so calm about this?!"

His head snapped up so fast that Madellaine had to move her head back to avoid connecting with his.

He did not shout, but Quasi seemed so shocked, so confused by the casual manner of her response.

Madellaine stared at him, hardly daring to believe her hearing. So, that was the root of his aggression. Quasi was…worried about her, then?

Madellaine sighed softly, not sure she was ready to talk about it, and in truth, Madellaine really wasn't at all. She had been terrified a moment ago, the event as a whole had been terrifying. She thought for sure she was going to die.

"Well, he probably _would_ have, if given more time. I was lucky Esmeralda showed up when she did," Madellaine sighed, not noticing the darkening, cerulean hue in the man's bright blue eyes, burning with a fathomless, smoldering rage. "I think I'm more or less okay, just tired."

Quasi stared at the young blonde woman, and couldn't help but shake his head incredulously, in disbelief of the way Madellaine was behaving. 

Quasi bit down on his bottom lip, wanting to yell at the young woman, to tell her never to do something so stupid and foolish as jump into an undisclosed location as she had earlier without him.

Right now, Madellaine was looking utterly apologetic and miserable, not to mention quite ill and exhausted, and a shouting match, a lecture from him wasn't what she needed.

"We should pop your arm back into place, Madellaine," Quasi suggested, moving with a careful tenderness so as to not startle the young woman, putting his fingers on Madellaine's right arm.

Anger surged within him, but not at Madellaine for this one. He should have been faster, tried to help her, caught her when she fell. He watched, pained, as Madellaine flinched at a jab of pain that seemed to shoot up her arm from her dislocated shoulder.

Madellaine bit down on her bottom lip to stifle the pained scream that threatened to escape from her lips, not wanting to draw the attention of the rest of Clopin's court, though she couldn't stop Phoebus and Esmeralda from breaking apart from their embrace to watch their friend, concerned looks on their faces. She sniffed, breathing fast as she begged for help from him.

"Fix it, Quasi," she snarled in a hoarse voice.

"Madellaine, I—" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"Just bloody pop it back into place and _fix_ it!" she snarled, in tears, her pain dominating reason.

When Quasi's mood darkened, only then did Madellaine swallow down the lump in her throat and tamper down her own temper. "I—I've been through _worse_ , Quasi. Just _fix_ it for me. Pop it back. _Now_."

Quasi hesitated, his bright blue eyes brimming with unshed moisture, an anxiety.

Madellaine sensed the man's reluctance and blew out a deep, shaking breath. "You've done this before?"

"No," he answered in a casual manner that sent a chill down Madellaine's spine at the way that he said it.

He lifted his gaze and watched a lump bob down her slim neck and a brief flicker of fear in her eyes.

"It's…easy, Quasi…j—just pop it— **SLOWLY**!" Madellaine, without even thinking, instinctively reached for fistfuls of the man's thick green woolen tunic as she felt the man's strong hands grab onto her dislocated shoulder and heard the crunch of bone forced to pop back into place, sending her body in an explosive, mortifying pain that she did not know how to silence.

And Quasi heard the loudest, most ear-piercing shriek that made his blood run cold.

He dug her head beneath his jaw and suffered his new love's muffled screams as she clawed on his arms, digging through the thick material of his tunic, leaving angry red ribbons on his firm skin.

If not for her injured wrist, Quasi guessed Madellaine would have already kicked him to the next city over. When her fit subsided and the convulsions died to mere sniffles, Quasi exhaled a sigh of relief.

He peeked at his friend's face and was met by her tear-filled blue eyes and a deep, scowling frown. He made no motion to move his hands from her waist. His gaze was boring into hers and Madellaine found it increasingly difficult to look away.

The two of them stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, an unspoken moment passing between them, neither one wanting to be the one to break it off and avert their gaze first. Then, it was Madellaine who spoke.

"Th—thank you," she gasped out in a half-choked sob. "Th—that wasn't so bad," she coughed through her tears. "Help me, please," Madellaine begged, getting a better grip on his arm, squeezing onto his broad forearm with her good hand. " _Please_ ," she pleaded, swallowing down hard. "I—it hurts, Quasi. I—I can't move it too much."

Quasi felt his breath hitch in his throat and a brand new blush speckled its way along his cheeks. Never before had a woman asked for his help, let alone one who he dared to dream would ever return his affections. This was…new, and Quasimodo was not sure how to react.

Though, before he could open his mouth to reply, Esmeralda took a cautious step forward, nervously twisting the yellow gold wedding band Phoebus had given her around her left ring finger, biting on her lip.

"Are you hurting? I could get you some poppy milk for the pain, my friend," Esmeralda urged, darting forward, as did Phoebus, giving her intended a questioning look.

But Madellaine numbly shook her head, still gasping to catch her breath, clutching at the stitch in her side, careful not to jostle her newly-mended wrist too much, heavily leaning against Quasi for support.

"N—no, thank you. I—I'm just…glad we…found you," Madellaine gasped. "W—we came to—to warn. F—Frollo's coming a-at dawn with a thousand men," she shouted, raising her voice to ensure that Clopin and his other followers heard her.

The Court of Miracles erupted into chaos as Clopin and a few of his comrades began barking orders for the others to begin immediate preparations to evacuate in rapid-fire French, so fast that Quasi couldn't keep up.

He swiveled his head back around to see Phoebus and Esmeralda drawing in closer, speaking to Madellaine in low tones. He strained his ears, forcing himself to pay attention, though he found it increasingly difficult to tear his gaze away from Madellaine. 

"Where will you go?" Madellaine was asking, her gaze fixed on Esmeralda.

Esmeralda let out a saddened sigh, her piercing eyes of green briefly darting towards Quasimodo before she reached down and intertwined her fingers with Phoebus.

"Away from Paris, for now. Perhaps even out of France entirely. I don't know how long," she added, shrugging her shoulders, and looking towards Phoebus, who was looking uncharacteristically somber. "Maybe a year or two. It would be what is best until things calm down. Leaving without being noticed is our primary objective, and if we can accomplish that, we'll be safe, my friends."

Madellaine slowly nodded her head at all of the information, as her gaze lingered on Phoebus and Esmeralda, and her eyes made a quick scan of the rest of Clopin's court. "Then Godspeed to you. To _all_ of you."

Esmeralda returned the gesture, though it seemed as though a light ignited in her eyes. "How did you find us? Yes, yes, the band I gave you was meant to lead you here, but how, pray tell me, did you manage to solve its clues?"

Madellaine smiled proudly, leaning over, and resting her head upon the man's shoulder and giving his hand a light, reassuring squeeze, an intimate gesture that did not go unnoticed by the former soldier or the young Romani.

"Quasimodo figured it out. If it weren't for him, Phoebus and I _never_ would have found you in time."

"Nor would I!" A chill ran through Madellaine's spine as she heard the unmistakable baritone of Claude Frollo's voice coming from directly behind the entrance to the Court. It made her shudder as a freezing cold wind would wake her up. Her blood ran cold and a sheen of sweat started to perspire and drip down the side of her temples.

She stood there alongside Quasi, Phoebus, and Esmeralda as Frollo strode swiftly into the Court, surrounded by at least a hundred, a thousand soldiers.

Madellaine remained frozen, rooted to the spot, not knowing what to do and too scared to even think at all.

Frollo had found them. They were well and truly trapped. And this time, there was no one to save her.

They were _doomed_ …


	33. Captured

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: CAPTURED**

**THE** sight of the Judge striding towards where Esmeralda, Phoebus, Quasimodo, and Madellaine all stood, all of them too shellshocked to even _speak_ , much less form a coherent thought, was perhaps the nearest thing to the seven layers of Hell itself that Esmeralda had ever seen in her life thus far.

It felt as though Time itself had stopped, and Fate, that cruel bastard, was hellbent on making Esmeralda's life a living bloody nightmare, yes. No one in Clopin's camp dared to move or breathe, all of them, Esmeralda included, too frozen in fear and awe.

Almost instantly, mass panic set in throughout the Court as the eerie serene calmness shattered the moment Judge Frollo flung out an arm and the massive array of soldiers standing behind him dutifully awaiting their orders converged upon the well-kept secret of the Court.

Her peoples' screams and hysterical wails bordering on mass panic and hysteria rent through the catacombs as Clopin's people attempted to grab what they could and dart for the exits, only to find their exits already blocked.

Frollo had anticipated they would attempt to flee, and he and his men had come adequately prepared, it seemed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Madellaine, now plagued with a horrible fear (she could see it in her blue eyes) press herself closer to Notre Dame's bell ringer, who, whether Quasi was aware of this or not, swiftly moved so that he now stood in front of the girl, protecting her. This seemed to inspire a similar response in Captain Phoebus, for Esmeralda let out a gasp as his arm, which had previously been wrapped around her arm, drifted downward, and moved towards her waist, resting the top of her head just underneath his jaw.

"So…" drawled Frollo in an amused sounding voice that sent a chill down Esmeralda's spine. "After twenty years of searching, the Court of Miracles is _mine_ at last. It's not so impressive, I'm afraid," he sighed, casting a wary glance around the catacombs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, before motioning towards his new captain, Ser Frederic de Marten, a man Esmeralda briefly recognized as Phoebus's close comrade.

Esmeralda stiffened and froze, her breaths catching in her throat as she watched as Frollo watched her droop her head in defeat and recognition of their precarious position. That he had trapped them with no way out. Frollo allowed himself the brief feeling of gratitude that he had not had his men kill the witch when he'd had the chance.

And even now, as he strode towards the group, there was again that strange pressure in his chest that seeped an unfamiliar warmth into his lean body. It was admittedly one of the strangest feelings Frollo had ever encountered. He was skeptical of it at first, but Claude soon came to realize that this was a good feeling.

Something that he wanted again. His first urge as his hardened gaze settled upon the gypsy witch was to touch her, to caress her cheek, though something within Frollo told him that the witch would have resisted his efforts.

It was again a new desire for him. Frollo wanted to touch La Esmeralda, to know that she was really real, not just another phantasm image of her that his tortured mind had created to ease the overwhelming ache in his chest and other parts of him during his manhunt for her. But there was a part of Frollo that could not bring himself to touch her, for there was a barrier erected between the two of them. He, a distinguished judge of notable repute, and she, little more than a harlot, and then there was the manner in which his ward was looking at him.

A mixture of unbridled fear and…something else in the boy's burning bright blue eyes that Frollo could not identify, and it unnerved him. Tearing his gaze away from the accursed wretch who, unless his eyes were deceiving him, had gotten quite close to the little blonde girl, his own former hearth keep. He resisted the urge to sigh.

A vein in his brow twitched as he repressed and throttled his urge to roar like an enraged dragon. He should have supposed the temptation of these seductresses, these women, would have been entirely too much for his sheltered ward to resist, though he confessed himself disappointed.

Frollo allowed himself to pause by the time he was more than a few feet in front of the group, raking his steely grey eyes over all of them before finally settling upon the one that held his interest.

 _Her_. Esmeralda swallowed thickly, feeling Phoebus's body stiffen against hers, though he made no move to step backward or forwards.

Though before she could open her mouth to speak, the Judge turned his attentions towards Quasimodo, reaching out a surprisingly smooth hand and gingerly stroked Quasi's fiery mop of ginger hair in an almost affectionate, paternal way.

She couldn't be sure, but Esmeralda swore she saw Madellaine stiffen and recoil at his touch before looking towards Quasi to gauge his reaction. Esmeralda drew in a breath and waited.

"My dear boy," he murmured in his smooth, languid voice. "I always knew you'd be of use to me one day," he growled, turning towards the newly-promoted Captain Frederic de Marten, and snapping his fingers, motioning to the younger man to rally the others. "Arrest them," he drawled.

Esmeralda parted her lips to try to speak and protest against the Judge's cryptic words, but her own voice was little more than a strangled gasp. She clamped her lips shut and merely watched, unable to remember a time when she'd felt this helpless and at a loss for what to do to help him.

Esmeralda could only be a silent observer as the young hunchback violently ripped his head from his master's surprisingly tender touch and staggered backward away from Frollo, taking Madellaine with him in the process, much to her surprise. But Esmeralda noticed with furrowed eyebrows, it was not a retreat made out of fear.

Rather, one of anger and that of disbelief.

" _What_?!" The word escaped the bell ringer's lips as a low, disbelieving growl, the word itself sounding on the brink between that of shock and unbridled anger upon processing Frollo's claims.

Madellaine, Esmeralda witnessed, who was still sheltered safely behind the man whom she was becoming increasingly close with, perhaps more than friends, if the subtle glances the two had silently exchanged with one another thus far this night were any indication, placed a hand on his bicep.

Esmeralda supposed the young blonde meant it as a gesture of comfort for him as much as for her. Frollo merely gave his head a curt shake and carded his fingers through his thick tuft of salt and pepper hair, not offering his ward an answer, before turning his gaze to Esmeralda.

"And I suppose surprises never cease. Captain Phoebus, back from the _dead_. Another _miracle_ , no doubt. Well. I shall _remedy_ that, sir," he smirked, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of faux humility, smiling in a truly wicked way that sent a tremor of fear down Esmeralda's back, though she fought it back down, refusing to let Frollo see it.

Esmeralda's face paled and drained of color as she heard Phoebus make a strangled sounding noise at the back of his throat, rendered mute. Up until perhaps a split second ago, Esmeralda had still firmly believed her soldier boy would somehow be able to use that smooth tongue of his and talk their way out of this little mess too. She craned her neck upward, having to twist slightly at the waist in order to do it to better look her lover in the eyes, his arms encircled around her.

It was almost impossible to tell what the self-proclaimed Sun God was thinking: his face was a mask of perfect impassiveness and calm serenity.

It had to be the trained solder in the man, it just had to. Yet, even as the thought crossed her mind, Esmeralda knew their situation was hopeless if judging by the look in Frollo's hardened gaze was anything for her to go off of.

Esmeralda drew in a breath as she watched the young blonde to her left look on in growing horror and dread as Phoebus's hold around Esmeralda's waist tightened, his fingers almost gripping painfully tight, his nails digging through the fabric of her simple purple skirts and chemise.

His face had not wavered from his stony expression. Frollo, for his part, merely tugged his lips upwards into a cruel smirk and looked on at the ex-soldier's vain attempt to shield his lover.

"It appears the gypsy witch has spelled you too, Captain Phoebus. It is a _shame_. You threw away quite a promising career for this heathen harlot."

Esmeralda silently seethed, gnashing her teeth together as she felt a wave of cold fear wash over and engulf her entire body until it shook hard, and not with the damp cold of the catacombs.

But then the frigidness morphed into a fiery burning heat that surged through her bloodstream and her veins, hotter than any wildfire flamed.

Esmeralda kept her gaze fixated on the Judge's cold glower. She did not know how to broach the situation and wanted to gauge Frollo's mood before allowing her temper to get the better of her.

" _Please_ ," she said softly, looking up at him. "Take _me_ instead. Do what you like with the others but let them go. You can have me." She knew the moment her words left her lips that her statement had hit its mark as Esmeralda watched as Judge Frollo's eyes briefly widened.

He looked away from her, something she had learned to interpret to mean as absolutely not. Esmeralda made a motion as though to reach out and grasp onto the man's black sleeve of his billowing robes, but didn't, and she even couldn't.

Phoebus's ironclad grip tightened on her and Esmeralda squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she heard the captain's baritone, warbling voice rent the otherwise silent and tense air around them.

" _No_!" he shouted, sounding almost angry with Esmeralda. She didn't even have to look at her golden-haired soldier boy to know he was ticked.

Esmeralda's eyes flung open as she felt Phoebus take a cautious half-step forward, bringing her with him in the process, as the former soldier refused to relinquish his tight grip on her waist.

" _I'm_ the one you want, Frollo. Not _her_ ," Phoebus growled, though there was no mistaking the warbling note of fear laced through his tone.

"Oh, how _noble_ you two are. Take them both away and get these two out of my sight," Frollo barked in a harsh, grating voice towards Captain Frederic, who looked as though he wanted to protest, but upon being on the receiving end of a particularly withering glance from his former commanding officer, he thought better of it.

Esmeralda saw a spasm of both agony and rage briefly flit across Captain Frederic's face as Phoebus's former comrade and hopefully still a friend, despite what had transpired between them, fixed the pair of them with a hard stare.

It was the first emotion Phoebus's friend had shown since Frollo had announced his presence.

But he shrugged it away, like a good soldier boy capable of taking orders, and within a split second, that mask of calm serenity was back again. With an exaggerated movement as Captain Frederic strode towards Phoebus and Esmeralda, the younger man reached with his left hand to the sword that hung in its scabbard at his right hip and drew it across his body as he unsheathed it.

Esmeralda glanced towards Frederic, almost able to read the expression in the man's piercing green eyes.

 _I can only pray I don't need to kill him now_. The younger man shot an apologetic look for what he was about to do with his eyes to Phoebus. Esmeralda stifled a moan as Phoebus spoke as Captain Frederic cautiously approached the pair.

"Are you _sure_ you want to do this, Frederic?" Phoebus asked, a note of caution in his tone, though Esmeralda could sense the rancor dripping just underneath the surface. "Young squires all throughout France and Germany fear to face me."

 _Oh, God, please no_! Damn him to the seven hells below! It was so like her soldier boy to crack a poorly timed jest when all four of them were faced with their certain death, even sooner if they didn't oblige. It almost made Esmeralda want to weep.

"No," Esmeralda whispered. "Phoebus, please _don't_." She gave the golden-haired captain a stubborn look. "I brought all of you here. I did. This is my choice. I could not do anything less. Save yourself, Phoebus. Don't…don't worry about me, soldier."

"No one _asked_ you to butt in, wench," snapped the newly appointed Captain Frederic, though if Esmeralda wasn't mistaken, a hint of admiration sparkled in his green eyes, though just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. "He just refused your offer, didn't he?" He turned to Phoebus, a pained expression on his pale and pallid features. "I'm sorry, Captain," he murmured in a remorseful tone. "But there is no other way. You broke your oath, Phoebus."

"I never did." Cold sweat was starting to trickle down Phoebus's neck and break out along his brow. "You know as well as I do, Frederic, we weren't trained to _murder_ the innocents. You know what he's doing to these people—"

"But we _were_ trained to _follow orders_!" Frederic shouted, interjecting before Phoebus had a chance to finish his sentence, having to raise his voice over the din of chaos to ensure his former commanding officer heard his words. "You swore a _vow_ to obey your commands."

"Thank you, Captain Frederic, that will be _quite_ enough of that. Move aside," Frollo's droll baritone commanded. Frederic parted his lips open to speak as if to protest. Perhaps he had more to say on the matter, though the Judge's gaze was fixated on that of his ward.

Frederic drew his own sword, a rather ugly thing, not as polished and pristine as Captain Phoebus's, three feet long and razor-sharp. "Your Grace. I'm more than willing to oblige. Say the word. What would you have me do?"

Phoebus threw his former friend an admonishing, withering look. "You truly won't be satisfied, my friend, with anything less than my soul, will you? As long as it means you follow your precious orders like a good soldier. Kill the traitor. Then you'll be a hero, Frederic. A hero in the eyes of the women of Paris. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it, Frederic? You can be honest."

Frederic's face upon hearing his former commanding officer's words altered to a truly alarming shade of green, and the younger man looked as though he were about to vomit, but he favored silence as the only apt response.

Esmeralda drew in a sharp breath and dared to risk a glance behind her. She had never seen Phoebus look so angry, so hurt and betrayed by his friend's actions so far.

"The guard fights to defend those who cannot defend themselves, Captain. You have let yourself wander astray by thoughts of one woman, and now, because of you, all of Paris is _burning_ ," Frederic growled in a low voice seeping with a horrible abrupt bitterness. "By disobeying a direct order, you have aided in plunging our great city into chaos and ruin. Innocent blood has been split, sir."

Esmeralda's face drained of color and there was no time for her to ponder the younger dark-haired soldier's words as the Judge gave a curt snap of his fingers, though he did not speak, his intended message was clear: _attack_.

Captain Frederic, albeit reluctantly, lunged forward, wrenching his sword from its scabbard hanging idly at his hip, and buried it deep through Phoebus's ribcage. Esmeralda and Madellaine's collective screams choked to a rattle in her throat as Esmeralda watched this horrific nightmare unfold before her very eyes as the man she loved crumpled to a heap on the dirt in front of her.

Frederic de Marten's sword grated out of Phoebus's right side with a horrible squelching sound, and Phoebus slowly lowered to his knees, his breaths sounding like a man in the River Seine drowning to his death, rattling. Phoebus fell into Esmeralda's arms just as she reached him. She ripped away from the blood-sodden material of his tunic away and was horror-struck to see the ruin of the golden-haired Captain's side that would need stitches.

"Phoebus," she sobbed, not bothering to stifle her tears, seeing out of the corner of her eye Madellaine struggled futilely against Quasi's firm, ironclad hold in her own desperate attempt to reach the man who she considered a friend. "No…don't…I—I'm so sorry, Phoebus," she whispered.

"No…." Phoebus's voice as well as his face was twisted and contorted with pain as he struggled to speak to her, but there did not appear to be fear in either. "It…would…take more…than that…to get rid of me…love."

Esmeralda parted her lips slightly to speak, but a rustling sound coming from her immediate left tore her concentration as Madellaine squeaked and grunted with the effort to free herself from Quasi's grasp and sensing the redhaired bell ringer was not about to let her get within fifty feet of the gory sight that lay at their feet, she rummaged through a brown satchel she carried with her, before tossing a small glass vial of an unfamiliar-looking liquid at Esmeralda's feet.

"Drink it, Phoebus!" she cried.

"Only…if it's…poison," Phoebus croaked in a fading voice. The defiant flash in Captain Phoebus's kind hazel eyes belied his words, but with strange, shocking compliance that was unlike her soldier boy at all, Phoebus managed to choke down a few swallows as Esmeralda wasted no time in uncorking the vial and pressing it to his lips.

Esmeralda felt a shudder run through the soldier's entire broad body before the man settled back into her arms and going utterly boneless. Esmeralda swallowed thickly and blinked back tears, lifting her gaze to look towards Frollo, who was not, as she had expected, looking at her, but instead at the girl.

His stony, steely gaze was fixated on Madellaine, his thin, pink wormy lips pursed into an unmovable line. Frollo took a half-step towards his former blonde hearth keep, though not before the young hunchback firmly planted himself in between the Judge and her.

"M—master, please…let her alone. Sh—she's done _nothing_ ," Quasimodo insisted, his voice rising in desperation.

The Judge quirked his eyebrows at his young ward, his expression utterly blank and unreadable and yet, his entire body exuded a terrible, dark aura, as if a shadowy demon from the depths of the seven hells had developed a habit of following Frollo wherever the Judge walked.

Claude only stopped when he was mere inches away from the hunchback, his piercing gaze rooting the boy to the spot, rendering the twenty-year-old completely mute.

"It would seem that I have made a grave mistake in trusting you, my boy," Claude heaved a heavy sigh that sounded more disappointed than anything. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you disobeyed me again. The temptation to follow this wench was simply too great. The gypsy witch was _not_ the one who placed your wretched little heart under a spell, was it, my boy?"

He sniffed in disapproval and shook his head, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he ran it along the top wall of his teeth, before turning his gaze to Madellaine. The edges of his lips curled upward into a twisted sneer before he flitted his attention back to Quasimodo.

"I suppose then, my dear boy, it would surely break your heart, what little heart you do happen to possess, to learn she is engaged to the soldier currently bleeding out over there on the floor. No miracles for you, knight."

He spat the last word as though it were poison on his tongue before he whiplashed his head about to regard the look of dawning shock and anger on the hunchback's face as his brain struggled to process his master's claims.

Engaged. _Engaged_?! Madellaine was…betrothed to Phoebus. His stomach coiled and his teeth gnashed together in anger as he fought back the swell of hurt. Madellaine was looking at Quasi through red-rimmed tear-stained eyes, trying to gauge the man's reaction.

His broken, misshapen, and battered body started to feel unbearably hot and beads of sweat trickled down along the side of his temples. Quasi felt his jaw tighten in anger as he staggered backward and relinquished his grip on Madellaine's shoulder. He could taste the acidic bile that crept up his throat from his stomach and lingered upon his tongue, filling his mouth with a bitter taste.

Quasi felt as though his heart had stopped as the blood, what little was left, drained from his pale face.

His heart felt as though it shattered into a million pieces as his lungs gasped, burning for the biting cold air.

So, Madellaine did not feel the same for him, after all. It had been nothing more than a fool's hope he'd chased. He ought to have known better.

Master was right. No woman would ever dare to love a monster such as him.

As Quasimodo's mind, what little was left of it, thought of the young blonde woman's betrayal, his lip curled, and his nostrils flared. His mind felt as if a stone were coursing through it rather than blood.

His once sunny memories of Master Frollo's little hearth keep, the times they had spent together in his tower, him showing the mechanisms of just how his precious iron bells worked, or even Madellaine helping him to put the finishing touches by helping him paint his carvings, now felt as if they were horribly disfigured into something grotesque and truly vile.

Quasi purposefully kept his gaze away from Madellaine, despite the young woman taking a cautious half step toward him as he continued to retreat.

"Quasimodo," came Madellaine's desperate, pleading tone, though her voice cracked and broke as she fought back her tears, swallowing down past a lump in her throat. "Just…just give me a chance…just let me _explain_!"

But the red-haired bell ringer refused to look the young blonde servant of Master Frollo's in her bright blue eyes.

Quasi felt sure if he did make eye contact with the young woman who had stolen away his heart, he might vomit. Disgust was the only emotion surging through his veins at the moment. With himself, the monster he knew himself to be. With her. He had…he had _loved_ her, she had _kissed_ him, and now, she was engaged to _Phoebus_?!

All the time they had spent together rendered utterly worthless. She had never cared for him, and it had all been nothing more than a vicious, cruel lie on her part?

It would have been kinder if Master's newly appointed captain of the cathedral guard were to take his blood-stained sword and run him right through with the blade. Kinder just to kill him here where he stood and end this.

Now he would be a monster, filled with a horrible bitterness and rage that Quasi knew he couldn't control.

"Explain _what_?" he barked in a rough, coarse voice that inwardly made him wince. His voice did not sound like his at all. "You don't need to explain yourself to me at all."

Madellaine's face, if it was at all possible, paled a shade further until her entire face was rendered bone-white.

" N— _no_ , that is _not true_! I—I _wanted_ to tell you, Quasimodo, I _tried_!" she stammered, her arm outstretched as she made a motion as if to lay her hand upon his shoulder, though she faltered in her decision when Quasi violently shirked away from her gentle touch.

Her head felt like it was going light. A horrible, black static swam before her vision as the young hunchback pointedly averted his gaze and ducked his head to avoid looking Madellaine square in the eyes, not wanting to see.

She shouldn't have done this. She felt like she was going to pass out. All Madellaine could hear was the resounding throbbing of her own heart against its cage and taste the salt of the tears rolling down her cheeks.

A horrible, blinding white exploded in front of her eyes, the walls of the catacombs around her closing in, and the ground, everything was down.

But before she could open her mouth to plead with Quasimodo to look at her, to look her in the eyes so she could tell him that she really _did_ love him, that this was all just a horrible misunderstanding, if he'd just let her _explain_ , Frollo's bored-sounding baritone cut through and echoed through the Court of Miracles.

"Frederic. Arrest them."

Madellaine's blue eyes widened in shock and surprise, though before she could call out for Quasi to help her, to try to do what he could to help Esmeralda and Phoebus, the young blonde felt her entire body go limp and pitch forward from the white-hot flaring pain that erupted from the base of her skull as Frederic reluctantly brought the hilt of his own sword down upon her head.

Unable to maintain her equilibrium as her consciousness abruptly faded, Madellaine sank to the stone floor of the Court of Miracles, the bell ringer's horrified, outraged face the last thing she focused on.

The scream tumbled unchecked from Esmeralda's lips before she could stop herself, a whimper escaping her lips as Phoebus's fading and unconscious form was roughly yanked from her arms by one of Frederic's soldiers under the newly appointed captain's command, and Frollo now moved to stand beside her.

She cried out in shock and surprise as Frollo's arm latched out and pulled her upright from her kneeling position on the ground, so she was now standing, his hand firmly cupping onto her chin.

This was it. She was sure Frollo was going to have Captain Frederic arrest her. Esmeralda felt a muscle in her jaw tighten as her molars ground together in nervous anticipation, beads of sweat sliding down her temples as she awaited the inevitable feel of cold steel to slice through the skin of her throat or her stomach, killing her.

But it didn't come. Tears left her eyes as Frollo's droll voice made an announcement that resonated throughout the entire Court of Miracles, rendering the people silent.

"There will be a dual little witch burning, a bonfire of sorts, in the square tomorrow that you're all invited to attend," he proclaimed, his steely gaze remained fixated on Esmeralda, despite the sound of his ward crying out.

" **NO**! M—Master, _no_ , no, don't do this, _please_ , they—they've done _nothing_ ," Esmeralda heard Quasi beg in a cracked and warbling tone, and she almost didn't look.

But against her better judgment, Esmeralda looked, and immediately wished she hadn't, for the look of despair, heartbreak equaled so much hopelessness on the young man's face, that it very nearly made her own heart cry out. Frollo pursed his lips into a thin line, throwing a glacier-cold and enraged expression at the boy before turning his back completely on the young hunchback.

"Take him back to the bell towers, Frederic. Make sure he _cannot leave it_ ," he snarled through gritted teeth.

Frederic's face paled in anger, though he offered a curt nod of his head and motioned for a pair of guards standing beside him to rush the young hunchback, and they did so without questioning the order or complaint.

" _No_ …" Quasi's broken voice reached Esmeralda's voice, and the young brunette Romani did not see the pair of soldiers drag the younger man outside of the Court, his body having been sapped of the strength to fight back.

Frollo turned his gaze back towards Esmeralda, knowing that he had the witch right where he wanted.

It eased his mind as he looked down his hooked nose at her. She was _his_. She could not leave him anymore… He looked down at Esmeralda. His free hand touched the side of Esmeralda's pristine cheek gently. Her skin was soft and wet, and Frollo tried to wipe away her tears.

His slender hands brushed over her pale face and her tears came even harder. She sniffed softly, the tip of her nose reddening as her sobs caused her shoulders to thrust. Her skin was milky. Creamy. Delectable-looking.

His hand moved even lower and Frollo trailed his fingertips along the neckline of her white ivory chemise underneath her dark purple overdress. Her breasts rose and fell heavily as she panted from the exertion of the taxing events that were causing her body copious amounts of stress.

Esmeralda shivered with fear at his gentle touch. But she did not have time to ponder this as Claude, in a surprising show of calm, dragged his fingertips over her cheekbones before his hand slid to the back of her hair.

Esmeralda did not have time to register the pain that engulfed her as he tugged on a lock of her raven-black hair, pulling her head back and exposing the column of her throat. In a swift movement, he shoved her head back and a heavy object came down hard on the back of her skull with a loud, sickening thud. She recognized it as the hilt of a dagger.

Esmeralda immediately saw spots blotting her vision and a little cry of pain left her lips. Her eardrums were filled with a horrible, fatigued ringing. She swore she heard Quasimodo shouting.

"Shh," Frollo whispered again to Esmeralda, and her head was slammed down again a second time, harder than the first. This time, the young Romani woman felt no pain and heard no thud, but she saw only blackness.

She was not awake when the guards escorted her back to the Palace of Justice, wherein would begin the longest night of her adult life, and in the morning, she would burn.


	34. Pain to Numb the Pain

**A/N: Possible Trigger warning for violence against a woman and…implied relations. The next couple of chapters are what I like to call my 'prison' chapters since we never really got to see what Esme/Phoebus/Quasi got up to prior to the execution scene in the movie, though the play does get an Esmeralda/Frollo/Phoebus scene, which is where this chapter comes into focus.**

**Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: PAIN TO NUMB THE PAIN**

**ESMERALDA** huddled, shivering in the corner of the dank cell she had woken up in a few moments ago, her knees huddled close to her chest, in new attire she did not recognize, wondering where her clothes had gone.

In place of her ivory chemise and dark purple overdress was a simple floor-length white dress with off the shoulder sleeves, secured by a pair of crisscrossing brown leather straps that served as a bodice and emphasized her breasts, which she found odd upon first glance. Her black curly locks cascaded down her pointy shoulders, slightly matted and tangled with dried, congealed blood, her own, yet still quite pretty and framed her face regardless.

If she were to die on the morrow, why would it matter what she looked like, then? Esmeralda frowned, swallowing down thickly past the growing lump in her throat.

She'd woken with dull aching in her head, at the base of her skull from where Frollo had hit her with the hilt of his dagger, but the worst of it had subsided, thankfully, for which Esmeralda was grateful. She listened hard for a few moments trying to see whether or not the Judge was in this dank, darkened cell with her.

When she heard nothing but silence, Esmeralda leaned forward and attempted to get up, though the effort, considering how everything ached and screamed for relief, felt futile.

Every muscle and bone in Esmeralda's body throbbed, as though she had been stoned to death. She looked around anxiously, her heart pounding in her ribcage as she took note of the single guard standing just outside her barred prison cell, little more than a cage. Esmeralda did not at all appreciate her situation.

She was alone, sentenced to execution, a witch-burning, the moment the sun crept over the horizon of Paris, and she suspected at some point, Judge Frollo would make his appearance and then she would be alone with him; a man who had murdered dozens, if not hundreds of her people and innocent Parisian civilians, one of them her lover. She had not seen Phoebus since he was forcefully removed from her arms back in the Court of Miracles.

Esmeralda had no way to know if her golden-haired soldier boy was alive or dead. Nor had she seen Madellaine, for that matter. Captain Frederic had been in charge of escorting the blonde back to the Palace of Justice.

She knew the dark-haired soldier had intentions towards the young blonde, and without Quasimodo by her side to protect her, there was no telling how much Madellaine de Barreau was suffering under Frollo's new captain's watch.

The thought sent a spiraling dread through her stomach that almost made Esmeralda sick. She was not under the allusion that Frollo, if he showed, was not going to hurt her. Even at this point, something small could set the Judge off.

The longer Esmeralda lived, the more dangerous her situation became, and she had not the slightest inkling on how to fix it. Not for herself, but for that of Captain Phoebus, Madellaine, and her people. She tensed when she heard the familiar clicking footfalls of a man's boots as her ears perked up at the noise. Heavy footsteps thudded towards her cell quickly and she yelped, bolting to her feet, straightening the skirts of her pyre dress, and raking her fingers through her hair.

If this was to be her last night alive, then she would not greet Judge Frollo looking like a slob. She could, at the very least, die with some semblance of dignity. Still, her body trembled, and her lips quivered.

Judge Frollo stepped from the shadows, his pale grey orbs narrowed, burning brighter than midnight torches in their sconces hung on the wall behind her head, the only source of light in the dank dungeons of the Palace of Justice. His eyes landed upon the shivering new prisoner standing somewhat defiantly in the open, exposed middle of her cage.

Her bare feet were beginning to blister as she stood her ground firmly on the cobblestoned floor, her teeth gritted with the effort to remain silent as possible. His grey eyes raked down her tiny but curvaceous form, over her small but luscious breasts, and then to her reddened feet.

A devious smile spread across his thin lips as Claude looked at her, stepping inside as the guard standing watch outside Esmeralda's cell fumbled with the keyring and stepped aside, allowing the Judge to enter. His white teeth gleamed in the diminished light, thinking what a beautiful sight his La Esmeralda was.

Her black curly locks like that of a raven's wing or the starless night sky cascaded down her slender shoulders, and the misery and fear was written over her pretty face. Frollo smirked, moving towards her position in the middle of the cell, crossing the room like a dark shadow.

He was so quiet, so _silent_ , that Esmeralda almost did not see Frollo until the man was already upon her, towering over her, looking down his slender nose at her.

The Judge seemed to have slid up like a phantasm, his handsome but lined face shining in the flickering torchlight emanating from the torches in their sconces on the wall behind Esmeralda's head where she stood still.

Though the moment he had closed off the gap of space between the two of them, Esmeralda let out a little gasp, almost tripped on her numbing feet and the hem and train of her long dress, though as she felt herself beginning to lean and pitch forward, Frollo's long arm shot out and his spindly fingers wrapped around her forearm, effectively righting her fall before she could.

Esmeralda stumbled towards him and blushed at the look in the man's eye and the way he almost smiled at her, a fact which sent her blood flaming like wildfire.

"Do you feel as uncomfortable as you look, witch?" were Claude's first words to her, his tone laced with abrupt bitterness.

"I wouldn't give you the pleasure!" Esmeralda snapped by way of retort, taking a staggering step backward as anger bubbled within her chest at what he had done. He'd as good as _murdered_ Phoebus, though it was not by his hands, it might as well have been, he'd arrested her and Madellaine, and was sentencing them to die in one of the most painful ways possible on the morrow if she did not comply with the man's lustful demands.

Her voice was low, laced with just a twinge of fear, as she looked up at the handsome older man, this man who claimed to be a distinguished judge of the people, but all she saw now in his eyes was madness.

"It gives me no pleasure, my child," Claude replied softly, stroking the back of his index finger over her cheekbones, which sent a tremor of revulsion down her spine that Esmeralda, in her vulnerable state, could not fight back down, and she squeezed her eyes shut, knowing the Judge had seen it.

She did not want to look into the man's eyes.

"I would much rather set you _free_ , but in order to _do_ that, I would need you to make me a _promise_." When she did not respond, Frollo continued. "You are looking cold, wench. Surely, you'll catch your death. How would you like to warm up? I can provide you more blankets, a warm fire, a roof over your head. I would much rather set you _free_ …"

Esmeralda shook her head, but Frollo could see the girl faltering already. She was very nearly leaning into his warmth, her piercing eyes of light pale green gazing over his handsome, if not slightly lined and weathered pale face.

A strong hand touched her hair, and she felt his breath on her as Frollo kept his face close to hers.

"Is…are Phoebus and Madellaine okay? And Quasi? Your ward? What have you done to him?" she asked, choking back a half-choked, watery sob that threatened to escape from the confines of her chest. She tried her hardest to ensure her voice was calm and collected, but her fright threatened to engulf and consume her. "Is…are they all still alive?" She felt Frollo move away from her. "Please don't hurt them. Do what you want to me but allow them to go free. _Please_ ," Esmeralda begged. One of his hands latched itself onto her chin before another finger went down to press on her lips.

There was more force this time and the way the man was cupping onto her chin was quite painful to endure. Esmeralda fell silent, her heart throbbing relentlessly in her chest, feeling like it was threatening at the moment to break free.

After a moment, Frollo's hand went to her throat, and her whole body seized up.

Even the violent trembling stopped. There was a light pressure, a gentle squeeze, and Esmeralda took that gesture to mean it as a warning of sorts. Still, Esmeralda could not force herself to keep her mouth shut. Not when the two most important people in her world were at risk.

"Don't hurt them," she breathed, and her desperate plea only made Frollo's hand tighten even further. Tears rolled down her cheeks and his free hand was not wound around her throat the way poison ivy would wind its way around a marble pillar instead drifted and ghosted over her collarbones.

As her gaze drifted upward to his eyes, almost black in color and glowing, Esmeralda shook her head slowly.

" _Please_ ," she whimpered, and this prompted Frollo to step closer. His lips curved upward, and his head cocked, tilting to the side as he looked at her, much like a dog would look at something it had cornered and found most curious, as though deciding whether or not to play with it first or just to kill it.

His intentions were quite clear without the man having to utter a single word. Esmeralda did not see a scenario of getting through the night before her execution without being attacked or assaulted by him.

But she did see a scenario in which hopefully Phoebus and Madellaine could get out of this alive. Judging by the murderous look in Claude Frollo's eyes, the Judge had but one thing on his mind: her.

Perhaps if she let him take what he wanted from her, he would let them go. The last teardrop left Esmeralda's sore and stinging eyes. She wanted nothing more than for Phoebus to be by her side, to let the man love her in the only way they knew, but now as she looked upon the Judge, it felt as if her heart had been ripped from her.

"Come back…" she whispered, feeling sure that Phoebus had already succumbed to his wounds. "Don't leave me." Her throat hollowed and she had to turn her head to the side to cough to clear it. Her shoulders heaved in pain and grief.

She ached for Phoebus. _Don't rid of me_. He'd promised he would stay by her side. And return he had to, in whatever form, shape, or smell, Esmeralda wanted him.

_Haunt me, soldier boy. Ravage my dreams, turn them into nightmares, I don't care. But don't leave me, Phoebus. Don't_.

Esmeralda flinched the moment Claude pressed his body against her, forcing her to take several steps backward, pinning her firmly against the cold cobblestoned wall at her back.

She swallowed thickly and looked up at the Judge, who seemed to be waiting for her to speak, almost as if needing permission to act on these carnal urges that had been plaguing him since he'd met her.

She knew all too bloody well what the man wanted of her. But she'd not give it up so easily. Not before the man _promised_ her. Goosebumps spread over Esmeralda's body as her shoulders were exposed to the cold air of the dank prison smell. The fabric of the Judge's black silk billowing robes rubbing against her arms offered a small area of warmth and as the fabric brushed against her, Esmeralda couldn't stave off the horror that she was now experiencing.

Still unable to inspire the response he desired to coax from her, the Judge sighed and took it upon himself to chance. "My offer still stands, La Esmeralda. It does." He was finally successful. Esmeralda did turn to face him, with a look of horror and recognition dawning on her pale features.

Grief and fear hadn't turned the heathen witch dumb, at least, he was pleased to see. Frollo continued, pressing forward.

" _I_ could protect you. Provide for you. You deserve the highest form of respect and in behalf of that ex-captain who failed to do it for you, I do sincerely apologize. And know that if you agree to this, I am more than willing to compensate for this. If you want your Sun God and the wench to stay alive for another few precious years, then the time is nigh, and I suggest you take what I am offering. I am sorry that you were abandoned by your people, your friends. Let me take you in. _I_ can be your shield from this world, take away the keen sting of betrayal. You can have revenge, power, money, riches. Just be _mine_ , and you'll see the world fall at your feet, witch. It is this, or you _burn_. Be mine…or _die_."

Esmeralda heard the sweet song of the Judge, how well the feared Claude Frollo cast darkness, made it so pretty, it looked just like the beams of moonlight streaming in through the barred windows of her cell.

But what Claude spun could never match the warmth of a spring day, the beauty of a simple flower, the feeling of her Sun God's body pressed against hers, feeling how his lips moved in sync with hers in a tender kiss. She shook her head, a raven curl tumbling in front of her face as she did so.

"I am not _abandoned_ , Your Grace," she snapped, no semblances of warmth in her normally kind and quiet tone. "I never was. Captain Phoebus never left me, not even for a second, and even now, he stands by my side. I would never walk with the likes of you unless it was a crucial part of slaying _you_. Revenge is cold, power a disease, money little more than an illusion. The only real thing in this world is love, and a _monster_ like you can never know what that is," she spat, the poisonous words tumbling unchecked from her mouth before she could even think about stopping herself.

"Then allow me to take care of that," he snarled. A pause in her response was nothing Claude could have hoped for.

The Judge sensed the revolt Esmeralda nursed against him for what he had done to her soldier, but if the girl wanted to prove she wasn't at all stupid then she'd better accept his offer. When Esmeralda found her voice again, her husky voice was low and disbelieving.

"I wish that you could _listen_ to yourself, Your Grace," Esmeralda's breath trembled. "You propose to set me free only if I go with you, essentially rendering me a slave. So much talk of respect." She sniffed and pointedly turned her head away, actively averting his gaze. Esmeralda felt Frollo stiffen by way of response, and a surge of anger flooded through her veins, prompting her to continue. "You could offer me the entire world and I _still_ won't consent," she dared. "Not in this lifetime _or_ the next, whether that be Heaven or Hell."

Frollo offered a small laugh. "Your Sun God has a hold of you, witch, doesn't he?"

"I'd much rather have Captain Phoebus than the man who burned my people alive, ransacked innocent peoples' homes." Esmeralda felt herself shudder with angst, feeling small as she had when she was only thirteen years old and lost on the streets.

Claude Frollo's piercing grey eyes turning deadly, flashing, and cold, and made Esmeralda's chest dent, realizing she had made a grave mistake in talking back to the distinguished judge who held her very life, and the fate of her friends, in his hands, just now, and it was too late to take it all back. Finally, Esmeralda heard in him the sinister side that she as a child had been taught to fear by the likes of Clopin and old Gwen, who'd taken her in and raised her.

"Then you leave me no other choice."

Her skin jumped as Frollo lunged, deepening her paleness. A vent of adrenaline coursed through her veins, pushing Esmeralda towards the locked barred door of her prison cell, with the intent to scream for someone to help her, but in a split second, she felt the fervid crack of the Judge's hand against her cheek. The sharp, stinging pain came rushing afterward. She saw the Judge towering over her, glaring, dull, yet filled with hostility.

Before Esmeralda could even think of bolting towards the door, not that she'd get far, as she knew it to be locked, he'd grabbed her by the arm and slammed her violently against the cold, damp cobblestone wall behind her so hard she felt a muscle pull in her back, sending a fiery swell of pain up and down her poor spine.

Esmeralda squirmed violently, horror burning in her green eyes as Judge Claude Frollo reached to lock both her hands in submission, effectively preventing her from trying to claw out his eyes or scratch.

Her muffled whimpers made no effort to be heard whatsoever despite her throat hurting.

"Shh…" he breathed, whispering it into the shell of her ear. "The less you fight me, the quicker this will be, Ma Esmeralda."

Esmeralda couldn't move. Her hazy vision came to her in ebbs and flows, and she thought she might very well vomit, or at a minimum, pass out, which she almost welcomed at this point. Anything but this.

She felt numb, utterly panicked, and in a frenzied state of mind, cold, exposed, embarrassed that her life had come to this. But more than anything, she was scared.

"Please, don't…" Esmeralda choked out, feeling herself resign and succumb to defeat. She was utterly exhausted, lacking the strength to fight back, and in pain.

Her only chance at getting out of this unscathed and un-spoiled was to be granted some small modicum of mercy by God, whether that meant the Judge would have a change of heart and let her go free, or if a guard with a clear conscience happened to stumble by and saw what was happening.

And right now, Esmeralda was not sure she could count on either, though she had to try. She just had to keep talking long enough to try to get him to change his mind. Though as Esmeralda parted open her cracked lips to speak, his mouth came down on hers. His tongue was now in her mouth, tasting her. His kiss was bruising, almost painful against her freezing skin, which was ice-cold to the touch and prickled with thousands of goosebumps.

His face was hot against her, the man's entire body seemed to burn like hellfire.

His mouth left hers long enough to protest and gasp for much-needed air, and he tugged on a lock of her raven hair, pulling her head back and exposing the pale column of her throat. For a horrifying moment, Esmeralda thought Frollo was apt to grow fangs and dig them onto her neck.

Esmeralda fought to find her words, though before she could so much as getting a word in edgewise, Claude moved her hand, effectively pinning her wrist above her head, and in the process, the yellow gold glint of the wedding ring Phoebus had given to Esmeralda, meant as a promise to be wed when the time was right, glittered in the dim orange and yellow hues from the lighted torches on either side of her head.

It caught Frollo's eye. Esmeralda swallowed nervously, her heart pounding so loud in her chest, she swore Claude could hear it for himself in the now awkward silence that was filled only occasionally by Frollo's heavy panting.

She bit the wall of her cheek, not liking the dawning look of anger in the man's eyes. Esmeralda had expected some form of anger from the Judge, but she had hoped it was nothing that he would not understand, but now, Esmeralda could hardly contain her racing heart or frantic breaths as his pale grey orbs narrowed.

There was no doubt in her mind. The Judge was fuming, beside himself in his silent, seething rage as his teeth clenched.

He was _furious_. She could see it for herself as plain as the nose on her face. The man's pale blue-grey orbs were glistening with unshed moisture that at first, Esmeralda took to be tears that he staunchly refused to let fall from his lids.

His eyes were filled with a raw, unbridled fury and anger as he looked in silence at the gold ring she wore on her right ring finger. Esmeralda swallowed thickly, attempting to open her mouth to speak, but feeling like there was a gag on her mouth when she tried, as her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

She hoped the Judge would at least allow her to explain and have faith that the man of God would, at a minimum, hear her out.

"Y—Your Grace, before you get _angry_ ," Here, Esmeralda raised her hands in self-defense the moment she heard the Judge sniff in anger and disapproval, promptly letting go of her wrists and staggering back.

She heard the man sigh, though she imagined if he turned around to look at her, his expression would be pulled taut and tight, his jaw muscles tightening in ire.

"Just let me _explain_ ," Esmeralda pleaded desperately, biting down on her bottom lip.

But God, could tonight get any worse?

_It might be your only chance at saving the others. Talk to him, try to stall him if you can_ , her conscience piped up from the darkest recess of the corners of her mind.

Esmeralda nodded to herself, flinching as Frollo saw the unusual gesture and took note of it, quirking a greying brow in her direction. As usual, the voices inside her head advising her were right, but that did not mean this was going to be an easy task. But right now, it was her only choice.

His eyes grew darker and angrier the longer he stared at Esmeralda, at her hands fidgeting with the simple piece of gold jewelry.

"Phoebus, he…he gave me a _ring_ , and I gave the soldier my _word_ , Your Grace. Is that so wrong?" she whispered, breathless.

"How long did you have it?" Frollo asked in a voice that Esmeralda could almost describe as a low, threatening, dark growl.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "D—does that really matter, Your Honor?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone, yet there was no mistaking the warbling note of fear laced throughout her voice. "I love him. I want to marry Phoebus, monsieur." She regretted the words the moment the truth spilled from her lips.

"Monsieur," Frollo sneered, though his voice was abruptly bitter, and he turned his gaze away from her. "Your captain dies alongside you and the blonde tomorrow, heathen gypsy witch. I'm more than capable of taking care of you, girl."

He turned at the waist and reached out a hand to her, and despite the distance that was now between them, Esmeralda shook her head numbly and took a step backward.

He lowered his hand, a more sinister smirk dawning on his refined, handsome face.

"I see. Too old. Well. No matter. You will either accept the terms of my condition, which your soldier and the girl's freedom comes at a price, everything does, provided you…give me something in exchange, or you refuse my more than generous offer and _burn_ ," he breathed, though he refused to meet Esmeralda's dawning look of horror.

He merely proceeded to brush his palms on the front of his black, billowing robes and strode towards the door, wrenching it open, where the guard awaited his orders, holding steadfast to the arm of a new prisoner, that, when he shifted and moved into the light, Esmeralda's blood ran cold and then hot, and she colored a shade or two lighter.

It was her soldier. She hugged her knees up to her chest and glared up at Frollo as the only sound in the cell was the creaking of the iron-wrought barred door as it was flung open, and Phoebus's broken, battered from was tossed unceremoniously inside.

When Frollo addressed Esmeralda again, his voice was dangerously low and quiet.

"Perhaps, my dear, _this_ will help you to think over my offer," he sneered, pursing his thin lips into a line as he looked towards the guard. "Don't let them stay together too long," he instructed, before turning on his heels to go, with neither Esmeralda nor Phoebus speaking to one another until the man's silhouette faded and vanished from sight.

"Esmeralda?" She turned, meeting Phoebus's pallid face, whose confusion turned into shock at the sight of her stance.

Her black curls wild and disheveled, sweat and tear tracts on her pale cheeks, and a patch of red from where he'd hit her just below her right eye. "God, what happ—" he started to say, but she didn't let him finish. Esmeralda shook at Phoebus's shoulders before falling onto her knees.

Phoebus knelt into a crouch at Esmeralda's side and took her hands in his, giving them a light, reassuring squeeze.

"What happened?" he asked, his hand gliding up her thigh, his voice low, his hazel eyes blazing in anger as he gave Esmeralda's battered form a once-over.

"Make the pain stop, Phoebus, please," she begged in a hoarse whisper, fresh tears dripping from her lids and onto the floor.

"How?" he whispered into the shell of her ear as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Love me, Phoebus. It's our last night on this earth. I want to spend that time with you if you will have me. I want you to have me like you mean to please. Like you _want_ me to say with you, Phoebus," she whispered hotly, their lips less than a sigh apart, and Phoebus half-closed his eyes, but she played on him. She could see it. _I do_.

His response was an unyielding passionate kiss, his hands coming to grip almost painfully tight on her waist. Her hands, which had been pulling and yanking on his dirtied, blood-stained tunic went to thread through his thick blond locks. Phoebus hissed in a breath when her right hand entangled itself at the back of his skull, but he did not push her away and she did not move her hand. Her chest hummed at what the two were about to experience.

He slowly slid a palm from her stomach up to her collarbones, but she held his hand, effectively stopping him from reaching her, and when he ignored Esmeralda's rejection, she consented and gave in. He knew, Phoebus could smell the want emanating across her entire body. He knew that no matter what, she wanted Phoebus.

He knew she had missed him. He'd admittedly never done this before in a prison cell before, but as she was right, if this was to be their last night on this earth, then he wanted to make it count, with the woman he loved.

"Show me," he whispered as Esmeralda half-smiled before they locked eyes, whispering it into her ear. "How you want it." He stretched a hand to her collarbone and felt Esmeralda swallow.

She closed her eyes as her hand covered his, and tenderly kissed his palm lovingly. These kisses were like nothing he'd ever had before from other women in times past when he would pay them for their services. No. This was different, and Phoebus selfishly wanted all of Esmeralda, every bit.

Phoebus pulled Esmeralda to lie on top of him, his lips meeting hers with fervor.

Phoebus felt Esmeralda as she wrapped her arms around him in a moment and he allowed her head to rest against his chest as they both felt sleep and exhaustion wash over them in waves.

All his thoughts stopped as if his heart took over from his head when she was close.

In a moment of doubt, wondering if what had happened was really real, he clenched onto her hand tightly, as if to check she was still really there beside him, her head nestled against his chest.

Really there and really real….and she was, body and soul. Phoebus doubted anyone else felt this way about her, about being in this celestial creature's arms, though he pitied them if they did love this much, as much as he did, and lost.

Because that was a pain that killed soft and slow. How was he to put their love into mere words? An entire ocean of ink wouldn't be enough to describe them. They were a starburst of light amongst the darkening dusk. They were all the stars in the sky condensed into a single point. They were everything and nothing at the same time.

Together, they were both a beautiful dream and a catastrophic nightmare.

They were in love.


	35. Her Promise

**Welcome back, my lovely readers! I know the last chapter was rather short, but there are more Phoebus/Esmeralda moments to come as we near the final battle and the story's climax, so no worries! But for now, our favorite Sun God and Quasi's love interest have much to resolve…and not much time.**

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**Chapter Thirty-Five: Her Promise  
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**MADELLAINE** had no idea the passage of time in whatever cold, dark cell the newly appointed Captain Frederic de Marten had brought her to, only that the moment the sun crept over the horizon, that was bloody it, and she would never see Quasi or her sister, Maria, or anyone, again.

The fear coursed through the young blonde's veins but never quite made it to her facial muscles or her skin. Her complexion remained pale, her blue eyes steady as she wound her fingers tightly around the iron grills of her cage in the Palace of Justice.

Or was it the Bastille? She crinkled her nose in disgust, either way, hoping that whoever the next Minister of Justice once Claude Frollo died or retired, whichever came first, would oversee renovations to Paris' prison systems, to ensure more humane conditions for their prisoners.

She doubted it, but it was good to dream for a moment. Madellaine felt her hand drift up to rest over the column of her throat, having screamed and shouted herself hoarse, every vile, black putrid curse word in the books that she thinks of at Frederic and the other rotation of the prison guards until she'd lost her voice, and all she could manage was a hoarse, pitiful little whine.

 _He won't set me free. Or even bring Quasi to see me. I'm trapped in here and going to die. For all I know, Frollo's already had Quasi killed, and the only loose ends left are me and Esmeralda_ , she thought bitterly.

Surrounded by four walls of stone, there was nothing else to do but stare at them. To look at the cracks in the dungeon that had been gouged out by the other prisoners had come before her—anything to pass the time—slowly going mad, she theorized absurd meanings from the wall's blank staring, wondering what it would say to her if it could talk, and for just a moment, she wished one of the cathedral's gargoyles were there. Though one had yet to reveal itself, she was sure, yes, Madellaine was sure, they could come to life. Even a grotesque stone statue made for better company than the tormented anguish of her own mind now.

"Frederic!" she weakly managed to gasp out, not even bothering with the proper edict, choosing to forsake the man's military title.

In her mind, the man did not deserve it, for he had coldly stabbed Phoebus earlier. His wound had been allowed to be stitched and mended by a practiced Healer, thank God, but she still did not trust the Sun God to be up and walking around so much, not when the man was still recovering from the arrow point embedded in his poor shoulder.

She was met with naught but silence. " _Please_ ," she whimpered, cringing upon hearing how soft and ragged her voice was.

Letting out a low moan, she slumped to the floor, that cold stone wall of her cage, though at this point, it felt more like this pit of despair had become her temporary new world.

 _My last home before I die_ , she thought and blinked back a wave of tears.

She was well and truly trapped in this cage, and at first light, only her and Esmeralda's shared deaths would set her free.

Madellaine hung her head, allowing a lock of her blonde bangs to fall like a curtain in front of her face, effectively shielding the rest of her pitiful cage from her line of sight. She did not wish to look upon anything but _his_ face. Her bell ringer.

Her one true love and she knew the love she felt for Quasimodo to be true and genuine, and damn the rest of Paris to the seven hells below, every last layer of Hell, if they would try to keep the two of them apart if, by some miracle of God, she lived through this morn.

Madellaine shivered, waiting for her inevitable execution, with bated breath and gritted teeth, clutching her middle as it was fairly cold and Frederic upon escorting her here, had not even managed to attempt to offer her a blanket. She could feel the cold and slimy fingers of the fear that threatened to engulf her entire being, crawling up her spine and squeezing her chest and neck with all the strength they had, suffocating the poor young blonde until she couldn't breathe.

 _Fear_. It was an emotion that was so… _human_.

The tightness in Madellaine's throat constricted as she shot out a hand to brace against the wall to steady herself. It felt like ever since Frollo had so cruelly announced her engagement to Phoebus to Quasimodo, that she couldn't breathe at all.

Her breaths came in short, shaking gasps, like her muscles, not to mention her heart, were ready to give up the fight on their own.

The darkness, that demon inside her head, began to close in on her conscience in her mind, whispering truly wicked thoughts of despair and hopelessness, hoping she could find a way to persuade Captain Frederic to sneak her out of these damned dungeons if only for an hour, to let her say goodbye to Quasi, and to Maria, _if_ she could find her.

"I'm so _sorry_ , Maria," she whispered hoarsely, blinking back briny tears, thinking she had done nothing but brought dishonor and shame to their family name by allowing herself to become captured and sentenced to death. There was a part of her, a small part, that almost wished she'd stayed within the sanctuary of Notre Dame de Paris. Inside. Safe. In Quasi's arms, where she belonged.

Madellaine had understood from the moment she laid eyes on the sole bell ringer of Notre Dame, that he was just like her. A person who would never truly be accepted by those around him or even the rest of society. They were much alike in that aspect.

Maria was her only family she had left, a sister that she could actually count on, or so she had told herself. Her heart throbbed a little at the prospect wondering if Maria knew, but had no time to dwell on it as she heard movement coming from outside her cell door that caused her hearing to perk up at the unexpected noise, and her eyes to widen as Captain Frederic himself escorted the ex-military Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers back to her side, a disgusted look on his face before wrenching open the cell doors and shoving the Sun God inside.

Madellaine's mouth curved into a bitter smile as Phoebus staunchly refused to stagger to the ground, though he certainly looked as though he lacked the strength to stand, considering his wounds. But Esmeralda's soldier boy carried himself tall and proud and didn't back down, not allowing his body to slump against the wall until Frederic turned his back on them both.

"This is the best I can do for you, Captain," Frederic murmured in a low voice. "For what it's worth…I always liked you, sir. Thought you were my friend. I wish…that things had turned out differently, Phoebus."

Phoebus merely grunted wordlessly in response, as blood was still continuing to trickle down his side through his tunic. His fingers clutched at his side, his breaths coming to him in ragged gasps. "I…forgive you, Frederic. It's…fine…" he managed to gasp out in a hoarse croak. Phoebus snorted, glancing down at his wound, feeling grateful the blood had started to flow. He grunted again when Frederic murmured something under his breath before lifting his piercing eyes of green to meet Madellaine's, and he smiled.

Captain Frederic's eyes raked down the girl's tiny frame, to her bruised red feet. "Hello, belle," he offered her a soft smile that Madellaine did not return. She couldn't even if she wanted to, not with her death mere hours away now.

A brief moment of hesitation and indecision darted across his features, and much to Phoebus and Madellaine's surprise, he shrugged out of his cathedral guard's cloak and chucked it through the bars, where she caught it in mid-air.

"You were lovely, Madellaine Belle," he murmured, reaching through the bars to kiss her hand, not giving her a moment to protest as he draped his cloak over her shoulders. "Remember me, love."

She let out a fatigued sigh as Captain Frederic walked towards the other end of the dungeons to continue making his rounds. She nodded to herself. Oh, she would certainly remember him, all right.

Madellaine furrowed her brows as Phoebus sucked in a sharp breath as he tore strips of his tunic to serve as a makeshift tourniquet, but that was the only noise the golden-haired former soldier ever made.

 _Naturally_ , Madellaine couldn't help but think to herself, a little sarcastically. _A soldier is immune and feels no pain at all._ Madellaine was silent for a moment as she shifted and scooted closer towards Phoebus.

"I always _hated_ you, Captain," Madellaine said, her voice low and soft, timid at first. "And even now...I should hate you," she said flatly.

Phoebus stiffened. Judging by the look in the man's hazel eyes, he knew what was going to come next.

How could he not? Madellaine would surely talk about how her father, Lucien, asked him to end his misery and suffering, and how his murder had plagued the poor girl her entire adult life. And then the sun would rise and both of them would be executed on the morrow unless a true miracle of God could save—

"When I—when I saw you that day that I came to Paris, when I met with the Judge," Madellaine continued speaking quietly, pulling Phoebus out of his swirl of darkened thoughts of his assumptions of what Madellaine's thoughts on him would be, "I wanted nothing more than for you to choke to death on your own ale, for you to drown, for someone to find your body in the Seine and let it be food for the fish," she cried.

Phoebus let out a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He had not wanted to leave Esmeralda's side, and though their time together had been brief, he would die with the memory of her sweet kiss on his lips.

Given that it was their last night on God's green earth, he considered Madellaine de Barreau a friend and did not wish to argue with the young woman who he was, for better or worse, considering starting to think of the girl like a sister he'd never had.

Phoebus let out a soft groan and carded his fingers through his long blond locks, his fingers coming away sticky from grease, dirt, and congealed dried blood.

"Aren't you quite poetic tonight, Lena?" he asked the girl in what he hoped was a teasing voice. "If we live long enough, you should have someone in Clopin's encampment write a song about this. It should be called 'How the Bastard Sun God Killed My Father.' Wouldn't you say it has a ring to it, love?"

Madellaine furrowed her brows in a frown, continuing to speak as though she hadn't heard him, forcing herself to press forward. "I _loved_ my father very much, Captain. So did Maria. However…" she paused, staring at the Captain for a moment, feeling a muscle in her jaw start to spasm. "I told myself that I should _hate_ you. That I would be justified in never speaking to you, even if we married, you would never touch me. As much as I wanted and hoped that you would just keel over and die, Phoebus, you defied my expectations, Captain. You coped with what you've done, even if…even if you haven't forgiven yourself for it, Ser."

"I am no Ser," Phoebus answered bitterly, the bitterness settling in the pits of his churning stomach. "Remember that, Lena."

"But you coped," Madellaine emphasized, pressing forward, wanting Phoebus to hear what she was about to say. If this was to be their last night on earth, then she wished to part from Captain Phoebus in friendship. "You coped with the shame of what you'd done. The blood you've spilled during your military career as a soldier, Phoebus. And…"

Here, Madellaine let out a soft, nervous chuckle as she tucked a stray wisp of her short blonde hair back behind her right ear.

"You won't _die_ , Phoebus, no matter how often I or whoever else in your life that hated you would wish such a fate on you. And I…respect you for that, Captain," she laughed weakly, though the smile she shot Phoebus was strained, the bags underneath her eyes from stress purple and prominent. Her eyes raked over his blood-stained tunic and pale, pallid, if not clammy, face. "Just _look_ at you. You are a mess."

"I'm _touched_ , Madellaine, truly," Phoebus replied automatically as the young blonde former servant of Judge Frollo spoke to him.

And then he blinked owlishly at the young woman. _Wait a minute. She said what_?

Noticing the confused look on his face, Madellaine chuckled and continued her piece.

"I _admire_ it, Phoebus, is what I'm trying to say," Madellaine mumbled. "You are a soldier. You fight for what you want, what is yours. Were that I could too," she muttered. "I envy you for that if I'm being honest. How is Esmeralda faring?" she asked softly.

Phoebus was staring at Madellaine as though she had sprouted devil's antlers on top of her head. "I…thank you, I suppose," he said quietly. "I—I try. More than you know. And Esmeralda is…scared. And…I am too," he said, at last, unsure if he should reveal the full truth, the nature of their conversation before she had fallen asleep in his arms and then Frederic had so coldly, bound by his duty, ripped him from her arms and her embrace.

Phoebus let out a pained grunt, shifting his wounded shoulder a little, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting out a hiss of pain as his ribcage gave a painful spasm of pain that sent a white-hot flaring lightning bolt up and down his spine.

"Was there ever a time, Madellaine," he asked, hardly daring to hope for an answer to his question, "when you liked me? When I…made you proud? Or will I always be a disappointment to you, my friend, because of what your father asked of me?" he questioned, his voice lowering an octave as he ducked his head, a lock of his golden hair tumbling in front of his face.

She couldn't be sure, but he almost looked…ashamed. Madellaine looked intently at Captain de Chateaupers the moment the man lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Yes," she answered, without any semblance of hesitation on her part. "Right now. And all the other times. You saved the miller and his family. My friend, Sophia. Esmeralda loves you, cherishes you, respects you. If, by some miracle of God, we manage to survive the morrow, tell her."

A trickle, just an inkling of warmth wormed its way into Phoebus's heart. So, he _had_ impressed the girl, after all. He had made Lucien Barreau's youngest proud.

"I couldn't manage to forgive myself for at first hating you, or you," Madellaine continued to explain, swallowing down past the lump in her throat. "Because I could not find it within myself to admit that I had forgiven you, for what you've done, even if Father did ask it of you to end his pain, Ser."

"I'm not a—" Phoebus started to say, but something within the young blonde's hardened stare told him not to interrupt, though his first inclination was to deny everything that Madellaine had just said. But something told him if he did, considering the look of daggers she was shooting him, that he would greatly regret it.

"You _are_ , Ser," Madellaine emphasized. "I'm proud of you, Captain Phoebus. You're a _good_ man. An _honorable_ man. Esmeralda has been a good influence on you. I see it. I am ashamed to admit I once harbored hatred and loathing for you, Phoebus…But not anymore. You say that you are my friend, Phoebus. And…"

Here, Madellaine paused to draw in a breath, lifting her chin slightly and jutting it out to lock onto the man's quizzical gaze with her hardened stare.

"And I forgive you. If there is no love in this life, then what? If not love, then what?" she questioned. "I forgive you," she whispered, her voice cracking down against the tears stinging and blurring her vision. "And...I'm proud to die alongside you, to call you a friend."

Phoebus felt his face drain of color. He was utterly gobsmacked and stunned, at a loss for what to say to the young woman who had captured the lonely bell ringer's heart. A pang of guilt pricked at his heartstrings, not knowing what Frollo's men had done with the boy when the lot of them had escorted the man back to his towers.

"I…" Phoebus began, wincing visibly as he and Madellaine both heard the faltering crack and dip in his otherwise calm tone. "I don't know what to say," he confessed.

"Then say nothing. There is nothing more to say," Madellaine said flatly from her perch where she rested in the corner of the cell with her knees huddled close to her chest. She shrugged her shoulders. "What do you think burning alive is going to feel like?" she whispered, a shudder of cold fear wafting down her back as she bit her bottom lip and painfully wrung her hands together, looking out the barred window, swearing she could see the faint illustrious silhouette of Notre Dame in the distance. Her heart gave a painful tug.

"Excruciating," Phoebus grumbled darkly, as all the warmth that had festered in his chest crumbled to ashes hearing her words.

She let out a nervous chuckle that did not reach the light in her dimming blue eyes. Madellaine's throat constricted.

For the fourth or fifth time in one night, she wanted to cry. Of course, her tears by this point were well spent, having cried them all out of her lids an hour or so earlier when screaming and yelling for Frederic to help.

She swallowed down thickly past the lump in her throat and turned away from the golden-haired ex-military soldier, needing a moment to herself. Phoebus sensed this and settled himself by re-bandaging his wounds.

It wasn't long before she heard a soft, almost muted grunt, and Madellaine did not even have to look over her shoulder to know the Sun God was now fast asleep on the floor, huddled in the opposite corner of the little cell that was barely considered a cage.

Convinced that the injured soldier was fast asleep, only then did Madellaine allow the tiniest cries of agony and misery to escape her lips, burying her head in her hands as her cracked heart shattered into a million pieces.

Judge Frollo had taken away the one man she had grown to care for, and love, in her own unique way, and Madellaine did not think she could bear it if she allowed further harm to come to Quasi. Let the Judge do what he wanted to her tomorrow morning at dawn if he must, but there surely must be a way that she could bargain with the vain pig of a man to save Esmeralda, Phoebus, and Quasimodo.

 _And the rest of Esmeralda's people_ , her conscience piped up from the back of her mind. Madellaine knew she had to try to save Quasi and Phoebus and Esmeralda.

Even if it cost her life.

Her father once, may God bless his soul, had become quite fond of telling her and Maria whenever the girls cared to listen growing up that only death could pay for a life, and if that were what Madellaine had to do so that Quasi and the others would live to see another sunrise and sunset, then so be it. Madellaine knew she would sacrifice her own life for Quasi if it came down to that.

It looked as though it was coming down to it. The young blonde felt the dread creep over her spine like a spider leaving a careful trail of soft silk in her wake. She never should have allowed Quasimodo to leave.

If it had just been her that had been captured tonight, she could have handled it. But _this_ …it was almost too much to bear.

 _You can save him, Lena. There's still time_.

Madellaine blinked as she could swear she could hear her Papa's voice ringing in her throbbing eardrums, the sound of the silence in her desolate cell almost deafening.

 _The boy will be just fine, daughter. Do not fret_. There came her Papa's voice again, firm, resolute, and strong, just as she had always remembered it, with a low, husky undertone to the man's deep baritone voice.

" _How_?" Madellaine wailed, lifting her head from her hands, seeing no one, and yet his voice was ever-present and clear, as though he were standing right next to her.

 _Oh, God. I'm going crazy. This—this is dumb, I've finally gone insane after all this time_ , Madellaine thought wildly, feeling her pupils dilate in the dimly lit prison cell.

She flinched as Phoebus stirred in his sleep, mouth slightly agape, but did not rouse from his otherwise deep slumber, for which Madellaine was grateful. She was not sure she could explain herself if he woke up.

She heard the audible crack and dip in her voice on the only word Madellaine could muster the strength left to summon, feeling like her words were now long spent. For now. "I—if something _happens_ to them because of me, of what _I_ am, then…then I am the one who rightfully should burn, not Esmeralda. And Quasi, oh, Quasi, h—he…."

Madellaine buried her face once more in her head and let out a muffled whimper, making a noise that resembled a wounded dog when it had been kicked by its master.

"I don't think I could forgive myself, Papa," she whispered, her voice breaking. The darkness swirling around in Madellaine's tired head threatened to burn anything her sky-blue eyes came into contact with. As she had learned from looking into the bell ringer's eyes now on more than a few occasions, the hottest fires always burned blue, especially Quasi's eyes.

She blearily lifted her head from her hands and swallowed past the lump in her throat as her throat hollowed and constricted, rendering her almost breathless. Ah, but God, she must be going _insane_ , to converse with the spirit of her deceased papa, as though the man himself was seated right next to her on the damp, moldy floor of her little pit of despair and hopelessness.

"H—how do you know, Papa? H..How is this _fine_?!" she whispered, her frightened voice wafting through the darkened cell as she sniffled.

" _Because_ ," Lucien Barreau's voice answered calmly, almost in a stoic manner.

Madellaine squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a strange squeezing pressure upon her left shoulder, and she could almost imagine her beloved father in this dark cell with her by her side, giving the appendage a gentle, reassuring squeeze as if to tell his youngest daughter that everything would be all right.

" _He has you_." Madellaine's eyes flung open, and she blinked once, twice, three times, looking to her immediate left and right. His voice was so close, she was sure he'd been right here. She'd be certain of it.

Nothing. Madellaine sighed, her face crestfallen in disappointment, faltering in her resolve and newfound strength for a moment. Her confidence that had just previously soared to unheard-of new levels, thanks to her father's spirit's final parting remark, as she could hear his voice no longer, faltered and vanished as Madellaine realized the hardest part of her lay ahead still.

Convincing the Judge on the morrow to let Quasi, Phoebus, and Esmeralda live, if she could take their place, then she would. She didn't bloody know if the eccentric Judge would go for it, but she had to _try_. For all she knew, Frollo meant to hang her anyways and send her back to the gallows from whence the Judge had found her originally before sparing her life back then.

To confront Claude Frollo over his actions, to get the man to let Esmeralda and Captain Phoebus go free was a monumental task. This thought was still on her mind as the girl's eyelids began to droop and grow heavy, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

She would be lucky to manage to get her last few hours of decent sleep before one of the guards, Captain Frederic himself, most likely, would come to escort her to the gallows, Esmeralda to her pyre, and poor Phoebus to the chopping block, probably.

Madellaine decided that, if she lived through this, she would ask Quasi what his intentions were towards her, when all this was over, if he'd ever considered marriage.

Considering the sheltered life the young man had lived thus far, she highly doubted it. She wondered if Quasimodo even thought himself worthy of having a wife like her one day. To share in the simple joys that life had to offer you, to sit up at the Rose Window balcony at the top of the world, just the two of them, as it always should have been from the moment she entered the City of Lovers.

It was that thought that ignited the small spark of hope in Madellaine's chest as she rested her head against the cobblestone floor, that somehow, Quasi was going to be safe, because she would find a way to save him, somehow, and she would be with him.

Someday. That spark of hope was just a flicker against the bitter cold breeze that wafted through the open barred window of her and Phoebus's shared cell as they slept, but it was more than enough for the young distraught blonde to find her inner resolve.

 _I'm going to save you, Quasi, Esmeralda, Phoebus_ , she promised to herself, allowing a tiny ghost of a smile to flit across her features as she chose to focus on his face, the only face she wished to see as she dreamt as she allowed sleep to take her over.

_I promise…_


	36. Made of Stone

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Made of Stone**

**THE** dark sky high above the intimidating and illustrious structure of Notre Dame de Paris reeled with ravens, and several of Frollo's men, new soldiers under the new Captain's command, barked orders in rapid-fire French as they bustled, working to build a large pyre.

The air was laden with the bone-deep chill of the coming blizzard, as it had snowed before dawn and would do so again, but the sole figure out on the bridge between the towers did not feel it, no more than he felt pain, or hunger, or love. Not anymore. He felt… _listless_. Empty. Trapped.

And try as hard as he might, he could not relieve his mind of the image of her face. The antagonizing hurt in Madellaine's bright blue eyes when he had looked away.

It felt as though his already damaged heart was destroyed, shattered into a million fragments, never to be made whole again, if it had even been whole in the first place. What struck terror and hurt into his heart was the expression on the young blonde former hearth keep's face.

Shame. Self-hatred at what she was. Regret. Heartbreak. All of those things and more did he see in his friend's eyes. The emotions he had seen when he looked into her eyes one last time before the soldiers had hauled him back here mirrored how he felt about himself so poignantly, that Frollo's new captain might as well have picked up that fancy sword of his and shoved the tip of his blade straight through the core of his heart. He was sure it had stopped beating. She was a reflection of what he was on the inside.

And it was that thought that had caused him to look away, and the poor hunchback simply could not bring himself to face the sorrow reflected in her azure orbs. It matched that of his own entirely too well.

"Quasi? Don't you _see_ what's going on down there? They're building a _pyre_!" came the desperate, warbling tone of old Laverne.

He ducked his head in shame, feeling his face burn with humiliation. Quasimodo had hoped his guardians would stay silent. Ever since being forcefully dragged back to the sanctuary of his precious bell towers, the guards had seen to it to barricade the doors, preventing either the Archdeacon or Sister Alice, or any other clergy for that matter, from interfering and setting him free of his chains.

The guards under Captain Frederic de Marten could not have been crueler in their efforts to subdue him. It had taken six of them to overpower Quasi's brute strength, and in the end, his strength had failed him, resulting in… _this_.

He gritted his teeth and gave his arms a futile, weak tug, the clinking of the iron-wrought chains sounding truly deafening in his fatigued ears as a wave of queasiness wracked its way over his entire wretched, deformed body.

The poor bell ringer hung suspended by several lengths of thick chains, the links of which, showed no signs of breaking, despite Quasimodo having tried, several times.

The chains wrapped around his midsection before snaking their way across the man's broad chest, and then, from there, wrapped tightly over both of his shoulders, which had been something of a challenge for the men due to the nature of the small hump near his right shoulder, before finally ending with his upper arms.

If one were to follow their gaze along the end of the iron-wrought chains, you could see that they were tied off to four major stone pillars that hardly allowed for any movement on his part. Quasi was on his knees, his entire upper body suspended by these wretched chains that he'd already fought so hard and failed to break free of. It was hopeless.

The calm wind ruffled his wavy ginger hair gently, blowing his bangs off his face as he kept his head lowered, and pointedly refused to answer either one of his guardians, not acknowledging Laverne's words as he heard the sound of stone meeting stone as the granite gargoyles awoke once more and hobbled over to where the man was suspended, well and truly trapped, in the hopes of trying to talk some sense into their friend.

"I thought you _loved_ her!"

He didn't know which one of them had spoken, but it was more than enough to elicit a response as Quasi jerked his head upright to address all three of his companions.

" _Quiet_!" he barked hoarsely in a rough and grating voice. He was amazed he could even speak, considering how on the way back he had shouted himself hoarse, screaming Madellaine's name and the names of his friends. Of Master.

The distraught hunchback rose ever so slightly, trying to use his powerful arms to support his weight. His aching back cracked with every inch until he rose, though there was no breaking free of these damn chains, he thought.

His tormented mind was once again rushed by the memory of Frollo swarming the Court of Miracles, of Madellaine being ripped from his arms, and as Master Frollo delivered the truly crushing emotional blow to him that the girl who he had developed a liking for, perhaps even had grown to love, was _engaged_ to Captain Phoebus.

He grimaced, tearing his terrified eyes away from the truly alarming image of Madellaine's tear-stricken face in his mind. He breathed scattered heavy breaths while his eyes remained transfixed out at the wooden pyre below.

This was all _his_ fault. Two women that he had grown to care for, were about to meet a violent, horrible, painful death, and all because of him, Quasi thought bitterly.

He breathed in…out…in…and back out again, but his heaving, exasperated lungs could simply not get enough air. The flashing images of the girls' pending executions, hearing their screams ring in his eardrums, haunted him.

Quasi could not help the self-deprecating thoughts of how he truly was a monster and living up to the reputation the people of Paris had rightfully given him the day of the festival. This was all his fault. He never should have taken a chance and left the safety of his sanctuary.

Master was right. What beauty could ever learn to love a _monster_ such as him? Madellaine was to die, because of him. Esmeralda, and her entire race of people, had been sentenced to death, because of him and his actions. His friends and perhaps the one woman in his life who he had grown to love, truly love, were paying the consequences of his actions, and it was this thought that sapped his body of stress. Unable to continue trying to break free of his restraints, Quasi hung his head in shame, allowing that one stubborn lock of his fiery red hair to hang in front of his eyes, effectively shielding himself from his guardians' view.

He was no longer human, if ever he had been from the start. Every choice had led Quasimodo here, to the side of the monster, to the demon, the bell ringer knew himself to be. Frollo was right.

Why bother trying to pretend otherwise?

In despair, unable to bear it any longer, Quasi gave one last futile tug and pulled pitifully at his chains, throwing back his head, clenching his teeth shut in the effort to remain silent, and failing. The scream poured from his lips before the bell ringer could stop himself.

The three gargoyles, Victor, Hugo, and Laverne flinched and shirked away from him in a moment of fear and awe.

It was the kind of scream that bypassed their stone ears and spoke right to their little stone hearts. It unnerved them. A chill ran through Laverne as the ancient stone creation heard the boy's cry of help, hearing his unspoken words of misery and anguish in that one single scream, all that he would not say to them laid bare for them to hear it.

In that empty scream was the pain of one who was now indifferent, of a monster who had sold his soul for one day in the sun and instead found Hell. Laverne pitied him, as did the others. She could see it in Victor and Hugo's eyes out of the corner of her peripherals as they crept closer.

His body now sapped of strength, he collapsed back onto his knees and ducked his head in shame and remorse, drowning in his own humiliation, tears dripping from his lids in steady tracts down his pale, now quite ashen, face. He silently wept to himself as the memoirs flitted through his head, of Master Frollo's laughter continuing to play over and over again in his mind, the man's cold sneer.

The fear and shame in Madellaine's eyes, her anguished cry for him to look at her, to let her explain, and he hadn't.

 _Because I was too afraid_ , he thought bitterly. _Coward_. When the taunts of the soldiers as the men had dragged him back to the tower had started up again, Quasi had felt his stomach sink to his toes and he looked towards the one in charge against his will, not wanting to look at the man.

It was an instinct that he could not overcome, this natural curiosity of his, and he cursed himself for it. It was his curiosity of the outside wide, that dark and cruel place, that had propelled him to defy Master's orders and leave.

How, when he'd first laid eyes upon Madellaine de Barreau, and the youthful blonde with the striking blue eyes had looked upon him without any hint of fear or disgust, despite the feeling of foreboding around him, he remembered painstakingly the feel of her hands on his, her lips pressed to his in a passionate but yet gentle, sweet kiss.

To know that he had played a part in her death sent a chill of terror through Quasi's twisted vertebrae and he wished right now Madellaine were here in front of him. He wanted to tell her how _sorry_ he was, for what he'd done to her. That this was all his fault, that she should have followed her older sister's advice and fled the city with her.

His lower lip quivered, trembling violently, so much so that he had to bite down hard enough to taste his own blood to try to stop it from shaking so much at what he'd done. He truly _was_ a _monster_ , in every literal sense of the word. Everything he'd done so far just caused his new friends pain and suffering. How could he possibly help?

He held no power, no authority, trapped up here, and this time quite literally, at the top of the world, forced to watch in horror as two people he cared for most suffered a truly terrible and painful fate, powerless to save them both.

The people of Paris called him a monster, demon, accursed wretch. And they were right in that regard, right on all accounts. He was a creature of darkness doomed for loneliness and ill will. He had tried to change his fate, to spend one day in the sunlight like a normal man and _look_!

And in doing so, he had somehow managed to endanger the fate of an entire race of people, and Madellaine and Captain Phoebus, besides! If he'd not dared to lead (even unknowingly) his master to the Court of Miracles, then Esmeralda and her people would still be safe. And free.

One of the links of chains wound tightly around his right arm hard enough to almost cut off his blood circulation suddenly gave a hard pull, causing Quasi to look up sharply in order to better see just what was going on. He let out a weary groan and cast his glance back down to his boots.

Yanking on one of the many lengths of chains were none other than his gargoyles, his friends, perhaps the only three left in his world he still had left. As one unit, Victor, Hugo, and Laverne were collectively trying to break one of the chains that he was bound against and held captive by, to little to no effort, as their combined strength wasn't much.

"C'mon, Quasi!" Hugo moaned, the fat horned swing of a pig urgently prodded the boy to keep at trying to break his restraints, giving up on attempting to yank the chain that was wound around the stone pillar like poison ivy, resorting to using his fangs to chomp upon the metal links. "You gotta snap out of it! It's almost morning! The _pyre_ …?"

Quasimodo didn't answer him. He _couldn't_. A scattered sigh escaped his cracked lips, and he rolled his neck to crack it, returning his gaze to the pyre being built down below. The thought of the beautiful, young blonde whose own heart he had assuredly broken by not even looking at her flashed in the man's vivid memory, causing his face to drain of all colors. The recollection of Madellaine's bright smile danced in the back of his mind, and his friendship with Esmeralda was yet another thing to be cherished.

If he closed his eyes and focused long enough, he could hear her laugh as though Madellaine were right next to him.

The memory of the spritely elfin-like blonde in his mind almost resembled that of an oil painting, as her smile laced over her face with such a tender sweetness, Quasi was sure no other Parisian woman held such a smile as she did.

A sudden and sharp pang of regret thrashed its way through his broad chest and heart. Quasi felt… _wrong_. Or more so, what he was feeling for Madellaine was wrong. It just _had_ to be. No woman had ever affected him like this before, and his heart tremored within him at how desperate and pleading her tear-filled blue eyes had been.

His face twisted and contorted painfully with grief, and he jerked his head to the side curtly the moment Laverne hobbled closer to him, closing off the gap of space that existed between the two of them, cupping his chin in her bony and stony fist, forcing Quasi to try to look at her. It took everything within him to keep his eyes screwed tightly shut, but the man did not want either of them to see him in this disheveled state as he was at the current time.

That would be seen in their eyes as a direct challenge, and one that he lacked strength to argue against.

"Quasi," came Laverne's somber and quiet tone, a hint of steel laced throughout the elderly gargoyle's voice that told the boy he had to look at her, yet he couldn't. " _Look_ _at me_."

He didn't, wanting instead to focus on her face. The memory of it, for it, was all he would have left of her. Madellaine's serene, sky-blue eyes drenched his memory. He never could have imagined a young woman could invoke these foreign and new feelings, yet here he was, feeling broken, scarred, beaten, and betrayed, but still feeling…feeling…what _was_ it that he felt for Madellaine?

Whatever it was, something within the confines of his chest still fought against it, this 'wrong' feeling that was raging war within his tormented and troubled mind. His feelings of despair and utter hopelessness only worsened when his gargoyle companions spoke up again.

"I thought that you loved her. Madellaine. You'd throw your time away with your friends because you're feeling _sorry_ for yourself?! You could _do_ that to her? You're just gonna give up?" Hugo snapped. The fat horned swine was not exactly yelling at the bell ringer per se, but his solemn tone suggested immense disapproval at the lack of effort the boy was putting into breaking free.

Victor, who'd not yet resorted to chomping on the metal with his fangs as Hugo had taken to trying, not quite that desperate yet to try to help their friend break free, chimed up with his own two cents. "Do you _really_ love her at all? From what it looks like, you've already moved on from her. If you hadn't, you would be trying to break free, Quasimodo," he said in a slightly shaking, breathless voice.

" _No_!" Quasi screamed it at them, startling a few pigeons in the process that had been roosting in the rafters inside.

His cracking voice erupted as though he thought it might serve as the silencer to the visions of his friends' faces inside his mind. His shallow breaths that had quickly turned to ragged gasps only worsened as time passed. "I—I…I l— _love_ her," he whispered, his tenor-like voice dropping lower than he was used to, his eyes widening in shock. It felt strange to finally hear himself confess it.

This was wrong. It _had_ to be wrong, didn't it? Besides, even if he could manage to break free and find a way to save Esmeralda and Madellaine and even Phoebus, what would she _say_ to him?!

He could not provide for her, not in the way that…that he could. As the silence around Quasimodo thickened, an abrupt bitterness seeped its way unbidden to the man's churning stomach.

 _Phoebus_. Captain Phoebus was the sole reason that Madellaine couldn't return Quasimodo's affection, even if she wanted to. The two of them were _engaged_. He could not interfere. "Phoebus, h—he…"

A lump in his throat had formed as his breaths caught in his throat as he shook his head wildly to himself somewhat violently, trying to dismiss these incriminating thoughts of the captain and the girl from his mind. It was not Madellaine's fault. She'd not asked for it.

"She did not ask for that, Quasi, and you _know_ this," came Laverne's voice, sounding much more subdued than before, causing Quasimodo to slowly and methodically lift his head to stare at the female gargoyle, annoyance growing ever more present in his darkening blue irises.

" _Quiet_! Go away! Y—you're only made of _stone_!" he barked harshly, unable to fight back his biting retort as he grew irritated with his friends' consistent pestering of this. "What do you know of me, of all the things that I feel? What difference could I make to them, if even I could?"

He felt terrible enough as it was, knowing he had sentenced two innocent women, a soldier, and an entire race of people to their deaths, by venturing outside, so why could the gargoyles not leave him alone to wallow in his own self-pity.

There was nothing more that he could do. Frollo had won. And it was entirely his fault. He closed his strained eyes and ducked his head in shame to avoid looking his three stone companions in the eyes.

"Go. _Now_."

"B—but they're building a _pyre_! You _know_ what that means," Victor protested, unable to keep the note of desperation out of his usually calm and collected tone.

"You know what happens when I try to help! I only make things worse!" the bell ringer bellowed, jerking his head upright to look all three stone gargoyles in their eyes.

"You don't believe that," they all chorused as one.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, allowing a small, sardonic laugh to escape his lips. "How do you _know_ what I believe? What do you know of me? What do you know of all the things I feel? You're only made of stone! I know what I am, this twisted…thing, this flesh, and bone. You're all _liars_! Would that I were made of stone like you lot, but I'm _not_! If I were senseless, I'd almost prefer that to this!"

He was panting heavily now, from the exertion of yelling and the surge of adrenaline and self-pity and anger coursing through his bloodstream, rendering it boiling hot like the hot lead he used to mend the bells' cracks.

"My master's words were cruel but they were true. True. Not like _you_ ," he spat, the words sounding like poisonous venom. "Take all your _lies_ and leave me **ALONE**! I don't want to hear any more of your _lies_!" he shouted, his temper reaching its limit. " _I can't feel anything anymore_! Leave me alone, and _don't_ come back," he snarled through gritted teeth in a voice that could only be described as a low, threatening growl to his companions.

Quasi cringed as he looked at the antagonizing hurt as his three gargoyle friends cocked their heads to the side and sniffed at him in immense disappointment and ire.

"Fine, Quasi."

He didn't know which one of them had spoken. Probably Hugo, from the sounds of it. He did not look up as he ducked his head and allowed that one lock of his wavy ginger hair to fall in front of his face like a curt, acting as a shield from that which he did not wish to see.

"We'll leave you alone," came Victor's disappointed tone. "You're right, my boy. We're only made of stone, Quasi."

"We just thought you were made of something _stronger_." Laverne was the last one to speak, and by the time Quasi thought to sanguinely lift his head to look at the statues, they had rendered themselves lifeless once more, honoring his request. He was well and truly alone. As it should be.

Quasi let an agonized moan as he lifted his chin, jutting it out slightly defiantly as the wind blew his bangs off his forehead.

The bell ringer looked up and out down below.

And immediately wished he hadn't, as he felt a cold chill of fear and terror wash over him, engulfing him in misery. The sun was coming up. Dawn was fast approaching, and the moment the sun crept over the horizon, Esmeralda would burn and Madellaine would hang.

Their time was nearing and coming to an end.


	37. Her Choice

**Confession time: I do have a soft spot for Lieutenant/Captain Frederic, Phoebus's second-in-command in the musical, and was disappointed when the boy wasn't given more of a role, so this is sort of my attempt to expand upon his character a little bit.**

**I might even feature him in the battle upcoming as our climax draws near, which I plan to take several chapters as I'd like to tell it the right way, from multiple characters' POV's, as I feel like the siege on the cathedral is way too short in the Disney film for my liking, and is less than 5 minutes in the musical versions, so hopefully, is still good!**

**I hope I did this chapter justice. I tried to give Esmeralda a little bit more of a backbone in this chapter to sort of mirror the musical/movie counterpart into one.**

**Though she IS terrified that she's about to walk to her excruciatingly painful death, I don't think she would kowtow to Frollo's demands so easily, either. Anyways, enough rambling and on with the show!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Her Choice**

* * *

**THE** sun came entirely too soon for Esmeralda, who'd slept not an ounce last night, knowing her death at dawn was inevitable.

A cold feeling of dread washed over her entire body as she watched the sun creep over the edges of the horizon, marred and distorted through her tears, as well as the iron-wrought bars of the window, but if this was to be her last sunrise, it was a gorgeous one.

After a long cold night spent shivering and utterly alone, the daybreak brought glimmers of warmth. The golden light softly caressed the land and ignited the birds into a chorus of melodies.

Though the moment Captain Frederic came to escort her away from this putrid cell and towards her pyre, Esmeralda reached out and grasped the iron-wrought bars, a horrible franticness in her pale face and her uneven breaths hitched and caught in her throat. Her knuckles were practically bone white and trembled hopelessly as she glared up at Frederic, her face drained of color.

"Wh—where are they?" Esmeralda demanded hoarsely, frantically glancing around the cell, as though hoping against all hope that Captain Phoebus and Madellaine and Quasi would just…magically appear in the cell alongside her, if only so that she could say goodbye.

Captain Frederic looked down his nose at the witch who had spelled his former captain and friend with her entrancing white smile and body, finding that the soldier could only look upon the girl with a strange sense of sympathetic confusion.

This woman seemed no more a witch than he was a _king_.

Frederic scoffed and rolled his eyes as he knelt in front of her upon opening the door, checking the rope bindings around her wrists that were chaffing and digging into the skin of her wrists.

"Safe. For now, awaiting the city's justice alongside the rest of Paris. You're up first, wench. Come. Paris awaits its justice, as does your pyre, unless…you've had a change of heart and were to take the Judge up on his offer, mademoiselle. There is still a _chance_ , for you, can you not see that for yourself, or are you blind?!" he answered as honestly as he could.

There was no small semblance of minor annoyance in his hardened voice, assuming that the wench was after asking the blonde who'd strangely wormed her way underneath his skin, and it made his skin crawl and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the thought of the fair-haired and fair-skinned prickly little blonde in love with that disgusting, wretched, red-haired _creature_.

Frederic felt himself give a start as he yanked the woman to her feet, the roughness of his gesture elicited a grunt and a pained surprise from the Romani dancer who the judge was mad for.

He wanted nothing more than to set her free, not condoning the execution of women in such a horrible way as this, knowing it was wrong on so many accounts to interact with a prisoner, especially answer their questions.

Yet, Frederic was wracked with a strange sense of pity and something else that tugged at his heartstrings, an emotion that he could not quite identify at all at the horrible thought of witnessing yet more executions in front of the mighty Notre Dame cathedral herself.

Or rather, to put it more bluntly, the only ones he gave a damn for were that of his former captain and the little blonde hearth keep of the Judge's who'd permeated his every thought.

Frederic did not want Madellaine to die, and yet, knew not what to do for either one of the Judge's prisoners to help them.

"I've done nothing of which the Judge has accused me of, Captain Frederic," the woman replied suddenly in a hoarse, dry voice, looking at Frederic with wild, unhinged, tear-filled green eyes. "W—we _both_ are, Madellaine, Phoebus, and I, we're _innocent_ , Frederic, please, y—you could set me _free_ ," she pleaded, biting down on her bottom lip, and sticking it out in a slight pout.

"I can't. I've not the power, milady. You _know_ the way to do that, mademoiselle," Frederic snapped, inclining his head, almost too ashamed to look at her, at the object of his former friend's affections in this way, the edge of his voice clipped and hardened, sounding as though he did not want to argue with her, and yet, felt it imperative that he try to make the witch see a lick of sense here.

His temper bubbled and bristled within his chest and the words tumbled unchecked from his lips before he could stop himself from saying it as he dragged her along the dungeon's corridors that would take them to the prisoner's carriage awaiting her arrival, where she would therein be escorted to her fiery fate to burn alive.

"You must give yourself up to Frollo. The city burns, innocent people's homes, their lives, forever lost, blood spilled, because of _you_. The only way to give yourself up is to turn yourself in, do whatever the Judge commands of you. Stay with him. _End_ _this_."

"That's _not_ what I would call _freeing_ myself!" Esmeralda shouted, losing the last of what little composure remained, her face drained of all colors the moment the Judge's Captain of the Guard kicked open the front doors of the Palace of Justice with his foot, dragging her roughly behind him, not sparing an inch. "I'm _innocent_ , Captain. The only thing you would find me guilty of is wanting a better life. To be loved…as you…love _her_ , don't you want that?" she whispered, wondering if she could goad a response out of Phoebus's friend by mentioning Madellaine, however indirectly.

"I… _know_ ," came Frederic's voice as a low, guttural growl as the young dark-haired soldier allowed his hardened demeanor to soften only slightly as he swiveled his gaze around to look at her.

Esmeralda paused as they reached the prisoners' carriage, breathing an audible sigh of relief as she noticed Phoebus and Madellaine sitting with a group of the other of Clopin's court, distinguishable among the rest for their golden-blond hair and fair complexions.

She briefly looked towards them and offered a nod.

The young woman blinked in surprise at the Judge's newest captain, not quite believing that Phoebus's old comrade was…actually _agreeing_ with her.

The desperation and madness left her forest green eyes for just a split second as she looked towards Captain Frederic de Marten and looked at the dark-haired man.

_Really_ looked at him, perhaps for the first time in a new light. It did not escape Esmeralda's attention either how Phoebus's attention had been captured by the shift in the man's countenance, and Madellaine too, had craned over the golden-haired soldier's shoulder to better get a look at what was going on.

"Frederic, _please_ ," she begged. "You are not like the rest of Frollo's soldiers. I—I _know_ there's still some good in you, monsieur," she begged, blinking back the onset of salty tears that stung, hot in her lids, and threatened to escape at any moment.

At that, this time, he really _did_ snort and rolled his eyes.

"Monsieur," he scoffed, turning to look at her. "I am no 'monsieur, mademoiselle." Frederic paused, one gloved hand still holding the length of rope that bound Esmeralda's hands as he turned over his shoulder, not sure if the Romani girl had paid him a compliment. "I…mind your tongue, wench, I'm no mindless _idiot_ if that's what you're getting at, girl. _Come_ ," he growled, his face paling in shock and anger as he gave another harsh tug of her bindings.

Frederic felt nearly sick with anger as his gaze settled and lingered upon Madellaine and Phoebus's trapped forms, in the cage of prisoners along with the rest, where Phoebus was sure to be executed via the sword, and the blonde girl hung for treason.

Unless he could think of a way to persuade the Judge not to… It was not difficult to keep his gaze trained and fixed on Barreau. The little blonde woman, who was normally quite a spitfire, possessing a feistiness that Frederic admired, seemed to possess none of that this morning.

No, the morning had brought a change in Madellaine, perhaps it was with the knowledge she was to die. The girl was looking positively miserable as her eyes scanned the area where Frederic stood with Esmeralda, silently waiting.

The soldier silently cursed Madellaine under his breath for causing him to doubt where his allegiances truly lay, but still, Frederic could not find himself getting too angry with her, yes.

If he was reading her expression carefully, it was…because…she wanted to be with _him_ , and she was to die in less than thirty minutes.

Burnings never took long, and once the witch whose ropes he held in his hands was taken care of, then the girl would be next…though this one would hang.

"It was an ambush, Frederic." Frederic's attention floated from where he stood, rooted to his spot, transfixed, and slowly swiveled his head towards Phoebus. "You know as well as I do it was him."

Frederic scowled as Phoebus's head was hung like a massive idiot's, almost so that he'd have mistaken him for the city's fool.

Though before Frederic could angrily open his mouth to retort, Madellaine spoke up quietly, her sweet voice inspiring both rage and horrible aching remorse in the pit of Frederic's belly, feeling like the blonde was spiraling him down to madness, again.

"Will he—will he let me say goodbye to him? To Quasi? The Judge?"

The soldier's gloved hand touched the latch of the iron-wrought caged carriage that would escort the prisoners to their demise when he stopped. He lifted his chin, a weary expression on his handsome face as he felt his forehead twitch in irritation.

"I…" he stammered, his voice trailing off as he looked towards Phoebus. Both men's jaws clenched shut, and Frederic felt his right eyeball give an uncomfortable little spasm.

He was quick to note how Phoebus opened his mouth but decided against it and shut it quick. A thick, horrible silence and discomfort ruptured itself within the confines of both soldiers' chest, making their throats parched and painful, that no water would ever be able to quell.

The truth was hard to swallow, Frederic recalled once during a conversation when coming home from the frontlines, but to have a woman that he cared for torn to pieces by it on the morn she was to be executed for a crime that he knew she didn't commit? Well.

Frederic found himself vexed enough to the point that he heard the lie erupt forth from his lips without hesitation.

"When we arrive at the square. I will…ensure you see the church's bell ringer, milady, I swear it," Frederic growled through gritted teeth, causing both Esmeralda and Phoebus, not to mention the other prisoners, to swivel their gaze in his direction, all staring at him.

He visibly winced, well aware he'd just lied to the girl through her teeth. He'd been one of the ones to chain the wretch up to those four columns, him and four others, and had almost suffered a broken nose and an arm in the process of it all.

Frederic pursed his lips into a thin scowl, throwing a look of daggers at both of them, almost near enough to a potential threat, just to stay quiet and let the blonde girl have her stupid delusions.

This was, Frederic thought, one of the times in life when it was acceptable to lie, though it sent Frederic contemplating hard as he chewed on the wall of his mouth, wondering what in the seven bloody hells he had just gotten himself into by lying to the blonde.

When Madellaine slowly shifted her gaze back to him for affirmation, it took Frederic what felt like an eternity spent in several conflicting seconds before he huffed and gave a curt nod.

God be damned, and the devil takes him to the seven hells below upon this death when Death greeted him like an old friend, but he was the one who surely deserved hell for lying to a woman who would never know what his love for her meant, the effect that she had on him.

Aye, but God, Madellaine had _no_ _idea_. Madellaine let out a sad-sounding noise from the back of her throat, and Frederic looked up in spite of himself, not wanting to look into those eyes.

"Would Quasimodo even want to see me after…after what I did?" she whispered in a hoarse voice as the girl lowered her eyes and batted her lashes, tilting her head so that wisps of her short blonde hair fell in front of her eyes. Frederic halted, drawing in a breath that pained his lungs as he shared a brief, but dark and knowing look with ex-captain Phoebus.

The Sun God pursed his lips and gave a shake of his head, silently warning Frederic not to goad the girl any further.

Pursing his own lips into a thin line, Frederic momentarily forgot that he was still holding tight and steadfast to the rope that bound Esmeralda as he stepped forwards a couple of steps, and only loosened his grip when he heard the witch stumble and let out a squeak of surprise as he heard her falter as he stalked towards the prisoners' carriage, extending his hand through the bars of the carted cage, clutching her hand in his.

He cupped Madellaine's chin in his grip and forced the blonde to meet his gaze. He could see the fear in her eyes as she tried to retreat from Frederic's firm hold, but the captain's grip was strong.

"Do you know what makes you _beautiful_ , Madellaine Belle?" he whispered in a low and husky voice, more of a murmur. "You give your kindness to a _monster_ like me, I who do not deserve it."

He noticed tears glistening in her eyes and the small lump that bobbed down the girl's throat as a lump in her throat had formed.

"I—I've done _terrible_ things to…to people…to _you_ , mademoiselle," Frederic whispered in a hushed, horrified tone as recollections and visions of the first time he'd laid eyes upon the blonde, how he had kissed her down in the nave of Notre Dame herself, flitted through the forefront of his agonized, conflicted mind, when she had not wanted that. Madellaine had never wanted it.

And yet, he still loved her and hoped to tell her.

"You saw through who I was to the man that I could be. And know that if you can show kindness to a devil-like myself, just imagine how relieved the boy up in the towers will be to see you again. Were that he _doesn't_ , then he truly is a blind, bloody _fool_."

"A truly _inspiring_ speech, Captain Frederic, but it shan't help her here, the wench ought to have _thought_ of that before she _betrayed_ my trust and generosity, Frederic de Marten. It's too late," growled the all-too-familiar baritone and listless voice of Claude Frollo, coming from directly behind Frederic de Marten.

And like a lightning bolt, Frederic immediately withdrew his hand and stood flustering in front of his superior, wishing he could quell down the torturous pounding of his heart in his chest.

"J—Judge Frollo," he stammered, feeling a fiery heat as his grip loosened on the rope in his hands. Frederic felt his face drain of color as the Judge merely pursed his lips into a thin line as he closed off the gap of space between the younger, shorter man and himself, and took the rope, almost tenderly, from Frederic's grasp.

"That will be all, Captain," Claude murmured, his pale grey-blue irises shifting darkly towards Esmeralda, who recoiled away.

"S—sir?" Captain Frederic stammered, thinking it a bloody miracle he could still speak at all considering how his throat hurt.

" _Leave_. I will escort the gypsy witch to her pyre myself." Frollo paused to draw in a breath and looked towards the sky, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of a coming blizzard. "The air is crisp. A fine morning for a walk, Captain, wouldn't you say?" he asked in a casual conversational tone that made Esmeralda shiver. "It will be good to…stretch our legs, Captain Frederic." He gestured behind him towards the carriage without so much as sparing a second glance over his shoulder towards that of Captain Phoebus or of Madellaine de Barreau. "You will escort them to the town square. The city is eager for a little witch burning, sir. I will walk with the harlot myself. There are…still a few matters that must be made clear to me, Captain Frederic, if it pleases you."

As if to emphasize his point, Claude gave a harsh tug on her restraints, propelling Esmeralda forward on her bruised, bleeding bare heels, relishing in the soft gasp of pain the girl gave out.

Frederic stared, inwardly balking at this idea of the Judge. He had not signed up to _murder_ the innocents when he and Captain Phoebus had been summoned from the front of the wars.

The drilling anger burned through his mind as Frederic stood rooted to the spot, seeming to have eyes only for Madellaine, and thinking what a terrible man he was to have lied to her just now.

He was finding himself in a mood where he wanted nothing more than to sweep the young blonde woman in his arms and never let go, but not before giving the girl a harsh reprimand for leaving him alone with just his thoughts and the memory of her.

Frederic swallowed down thickly past the lump in his throat, begrudgingly offering a slight incline of his head before carrying out the Judge's orders, not wanting to annoy Claude any more than the man's temper was already stroke and agitated, lest he finds himself on the receiving end of a particularly harsh blow himself.

Claude watched as Frederic turned on his heels and barked out an order in rapid-fire French to the driver of the carriage, who wasted no time in propelling the prisoners' carriage away and out of his and Esmeralda's line of sight, a sick sense of glee in his belly.

He returned his attention towards Esmeralda and gave a surprisingly gentle tug on her ropes, glancing at her wrists, the ropes chafing her skin badly, the hint of red that trickled down her arms suggested to Claude that she'd given Frederic a fight.

Her pale skin was cracked and bruised, her pale-green irises red-rimmed and puffy, cracked at the edges, dried tear tracts the only evidence that the witch possessed a show of emotion towards her inevitable fate if she did not agree to his demand, yet again.

"How _disappointing_ ," he drawled, heaving a tired sigh as he walked forward, yanking Esmeralda along behind him. "No smart remark, gypsy? Nothing to _say_? I do wonder where that vicious _tongue_ of yours went, harlot. It surely must be hung in the middle so that it can wag at both ends," he snapped, glancing back at her. "I should have had Captain Frederic cut it out of you."

Esmeralda silently seethed, feeling waves of fury course through her blood, searing her skin, and burning her, hotter than her pyre was sure to in little less than an hour, she thought, swallowing down hard as a sheen of cold sweat glistened along her browbone and started to slide down the front of her temples.

She decided that in this case, the silence was the only apt response, as anything she said might only provoke the Judge's anger further. Esmeralda glowered at the man in front of her leading her on a slow walk that would inevitably lead to her doom, the longest two miles she felt that her cracked and bleeding feet had ever walked.

Esmeralda was not sure she could bring herself to meet Frollo's pierce, burning stare, looking at him with the only emotion she could summon the strength to show on her face: palpable disgust, her face turning an interesting shade of green as they walked.

She froze, her entire body stiffening and seizing up as he paused, stalking towards her, not taking advantage of the rope in his hands, Esmeralda noticed, and as such, did not know how to react to this. The tall imposing figure of authority held a wild, unhinged look within his grey irises that she didn't know what to make of.

What could he possibly want with her? She had chosen.

She would rather _die_ than ever willingly give herself up to _him_.

Esmeralda hoped this sentiment was reflected upon her face as she could practically feel her pale green irises start to blaze with a raw, unbridled fury, the emotion only intensifying the moment Claude closed off the gap of space between the two of them in front of the baker's shop and ran a slender finger along with the conclave of her ear, before tracing it down her sharp jawline.

He sneered, enjoying the way the heathen witch shivered beneath his touch, wanting to continue to feel the overwhelming ache within his chest that had blossomed and spread like fire the moment her skin, which was cold to the touch, came into contact with him, and this response was just from a finger on her cheek.

"There is still a chance for your soul to be _saved_ , Esmeralda," he whispered, breathing his words into the shell of her ear, sneering as passerby cast the two of them quizzical glances. "I can still _save_ you. You need only to choose me, and not the fire. I could protect you, provide for you, give you sanctuary, you need only say the word, and no one will die. Your friends. The _Sun God_ ," he spat Phoebus's self-proclaimed title as though it were poison that had settled upon his tongue, "and the other little girl. Madellaine. They will _die_ if you answer no, dear."

"But I would give up my freedom in exchange to be _yours_?" she challenged quietly, watching the way the refined man's eyes narrowed in slight suspicion as she hardened her tone in response to the man's suggestive tone as he'd lowered his voice an octave. "I wish that you could hear yourself, Your Honor. I will _never_ ," she growled through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut.

She silently begged forgiveness to God and His Angels, if He even looked out for an outcast like her, to watch over Phoebus, Madellaine, and Quasimodo, that there had to be some other way she could save them that did not result in the only way was to sacrifice herself.

"Then, I am afraid, young mademoiselle, that I can no longer help you," Frollo responded coldly, though Esmeralda swore something in the man's glistening orbs softened as he reached up a surprisingly tender hand and tucked a raven curl back behind her ear as the wind tousled her hair and blew it off her shoulders.

Esmeralda shivered as she looked upwards into the handsome face of the distinguished judge who ruled these streets. His face was scathed, but even as the years had taken somewhat of a toll on his youth, his grey-blue irises burned with a passion to kill her if she refused to recant whatever false charges he'd accused her of.

The Parisians around them rose in whispers, but neither made a move to interfere on Esmeralda's behalf, fearing Claude's ire, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs.

Even in such chilled, freezing air, Esmeralda could feel her temples start to moisten and fear pounding within her heartstrings.

Esmeralda let out a hiss as his hand drifted to the back of her skull and settled there, finding purchase in her raven curls before removing it, slowly bringing his hand to rest upon her right cheek.

Claude almost let out a content sigh at how her pale skin felt so pristine and supple beneath his hand. But how to make her _see_ it?

Frollo could not be sure if it were the coldness of the bitter Parisian air or disgust, able to sense the revolt the witch nursed against him, but either way, he could feel her shudder against the palm of his hand, and her voice was low and quiet as she hissed.

"Don't _touch_ me, you—you _monster_! You call yourself a _man_ , you're _nothing_! _Weak_!" she snarled, almost spitting at him in anger as she violently shirked out of the man's tender and gentle hold.

Claude felt his teeth clench as his slender fingers curled around the length of rope that held her bound and he scoffed, rolling his eyes at her little display of feistiness that made his loins ache.

"You are in no place to tell _me_ what to do, heathen gypsy witch!" When the man spoke, his tone was hoarse yet acrid, filled with a horrible bitterness and abhorrence for this new prisoner of his.

Before the Judge could think about stopping himself, his fingers drifted of their own accord and wound their way tightly around the column of her throat, squeezing and applying just enough light pressure to try to enforce his intended message: concede.

Esmeralda shuddered out of disgust as she felt bitter, acidic bile creep up into her throat that she forced herself to swallow it back down, as disgusting as it was, she didn't want to throw up on the man, though it took every ounce of her strength.

The moment the man's grip slackened, Esmeralda turned her head to the side to cough, wrenching herself out of his grasp, letting out a gasp of pain as the rope continued to tear and shred the skin of her wrists. Though considering what awaited her when she reached Notre Dame, this was _nothing_ compared to the fire that she would burn to death by means of immolation.

Tears sprang to the corners of her lids as Esmeralda panted in fear, not even flinching as she felt another harsh tug that jerked her forward until she felt herself leaning into the Judge's chest.

Even underneath the billowing black robes, Esmeralda could tell the Judge had a nice layer of hard, firm muscle just underneath, despite his age of early fifties or so, she guessed.

There was no question in her mind the man could easily overpower her.

" _Look_!" Claude snarled through clenched teeth as she squirmed and shoved pitifully at his chest with her bound hands, struggling to escape the Judge's ironclad, tight grasp.

When still, Esmeralda did not respond, he began to grow angry, and that was when the distinguished authority figure felt something within him snap, and something ugly inside gave way.

" **LOOK AT ME!** " he roared, his fingers once more winding themselves around her throat and squeezing even harder than before, effectively cutting off Esmeralda's oxygen supply as her lungs heaved and beseeched her to open her cracked lips for air.

The Judge cupped her chin firmly in his strong hand as he sharply swiveled her gaze towards the front of the town square.

Her heart gave a pitiful little lurch as she recognized the same cart that Phoebus and Madellaine were trapped inside, along with Clopin, Gwen, and a few others from Clopin's encampments.

"You would really see them _die_ because of _your_ actions?"

Tears spilled down her face and her ribs suddenly hurt more than Esmeralda could even begin to comprehend. She had a truly horrifying moment of realization as she felt Claude press himself against him that because she'd told Paris's Judge that he was not a man, that he was going to show her that he was, indeed, a man.

"Their fate lies within your hands, _gypsy_. Make. Your. Choice. _You try my patience_ ," he snarled, not giving Esmeralda a chance to answer as his hand clamped over her face, smothering her.

Her brain began to feel foggy and her lungs continued to burn. She was sure she was going to die even before they reached the pyre.

This was it. She'd failed at convincing the Judge to change his mind and let Phoebus and her dear friends Madellaine and Quasi, but at least she knew she wasn't going to burn to death.

She only wished that, before the Judge killed her, he would grant her the sole privilege of knowing what was to become of her love, of Phoebus, and for her friends.

If, once she was dead, would he let them go? Would the Judge and his men set them free? Esmeralda squeezed her eyes shut as her face twisted and contorted with pain, the mask of calm serenity she'd worn all throughout up until this point had started to crumble and falter.

"It's not _my_ _fault_!" she gasped, clawing at his arm with her fingernails, turning her head to the side to cough for much-needed air as the cold, biting air around her thrashed in and out of her lungs at a desperate speed that Esmeralda could not control at all. "I—I am not the reason why you—you and your men arrested them, Your Honor! It's _you_ , it's _always_ been _you_ , Claude! You will _not_ pin the lives that have been lost on me!" she yelled, feeling her face drain of color and she stomped her foot in frustration, hoping her bare foot came down on top of the man's unsoiled black boots and sullied them for all she cared.

She didn't. Esmeralda continued her tirade before she lost her resolve.

" _You_! Because you cannot _control_ yourself, because you cannot accept the plain truth that I want _nothing_ to do with you, _you_ are the one who murdered those people, sentenced Phoebus to death, arrested Madellaine on false charges, and myself, and _you_ are the one whose hands are stained with their _blood_ , _not_ mine!" Esmeralda bellowed, screaming with as much breath as her lungs could muster, clenching her nails into fists, and digging them into the skin of her palm as she felt Frollo's grip finally fall and she staggered backward, careful to avoid tripping over the hem of her white pyre dress.

Slick tears were pouring from her lids now, but Esmeralda no longer cared about composure or proper dignity. She was panting heavily now from exertion and anger, her breaths coming to her in short, ragged gasps, and a horrible, overwhelming sense of nausea wracked her entire body to shreds.

It took her a moment or two to realize that she had more or less effectively rendered the Judge, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, completely speechless, his lips agape, at a loss for words.

Esmeralda did not fight against the shudder of disgust that started down her back, gritting her teeth and clutching onto fistfuls of her dress, as though she thought that could keep the vindictive, insane judge from doing whatever it was that he wanted from her.

She was sure if she were to turn her head to the side and look into the reflection of any of the shop windows, or even down at one of the puddles of melted snow that had turned to slush by her feet, Esmeralda would get a glimpse of just how utterly _angry_ she was. What she thought had been a healthy amount of fear only amplified the moment she felt his strong hand cup her chin again.

Frollo let out a tired sigh that in her mind, sounded more like a low warning growl, but he seemed…almost _disappointed_ in her, and Esmeralda did not know how to react to his shift in attitude.

Her stomach churned and lurched and a chill ran through Esmeralda so deep that the fear she felt was literally sickening, and she thought she might vomit. She tilted her head to the side so she wouldn't vomit in front of the man's precious black leather boots.

"When are you going to learn that I am only trying to _help_?" he growled, his tone carrying an undercurrent of bitter anger.

Esmeralda pointedly averted her gaze, not wanting to look into Claude's eyes and see the look of wild, unhinged lust within.

" _I_ could provide for you," Frollo persisted, trying one more time, hoping to elicit the correct response from her he wanted.

It gave him no pleasure to sentence this witch to death. He would much rather set La Esmeralda free, the restless, caged spirit that she was that reminded him so of a lark bird held captive.

But if the witch wanted to prove to him that she wasn't stupid, then she had better embrace his offer, or she would rightfully burn. Her fear towards her situation hadn't at least turned her dumb, he was, at least, somewhat grateful to see that for himself.

Claude was rewarded for his uttered words when Esmeralda's head whiplashed so sharply upwards that he had to move his own head back to avoid connecting with hers, her eyes ablaze with a wave of wild anger he had not seen in the likes of the witch before, and Claude decided he liked it.

Though what she said next to him, however, Frollo abhorred.

"I will _never_ submit to the likes of a man such as you, you _monster_ ," Esmeralda snarled, flinching as she heard the black putrid poison of her own words drip from her tongue effortlessly. "I will _never_ be yours, even if I have to give up my own life for it. I won't let myself be taken by you. _You_ are the one who is _insane_ , not me, the one that _deserves_ this fiery pit of Hellfire you speak of!"

Her throat hurt as she ducked her head, considering whether or not she should continue to speak to her newfound tormentor, but as she pondered over what to do as he dragged her towards the wooden platform erected overnight in front of Notre Dame, Esmeralda froze, her face draining of color, her body almost going limp.

"Think _very_ _carefully_ about your next words, mademoiselle," Frollo growled in a hushed, lowly whisper, so that only Esmeralda could possibly hear his words meant for her and her alone.

He stared at her as he allowed the executioner to take over, who met them halfway up the steps of the wooden platform, seizing Esmeralda's wrist and violently wrenching her towards the beam. The hooded man worked quickly to bind her to her pyre, the rope securing her arms, now wrenched behind her back, and her waist, secure enough in that the gypsy wasn't going to escape this.

Frollo paused, feeling his breaths hitch in his throat as he witnessed every breath, every cry, every struggle Esmeralda gave. She ducked her head and her ebony curls fell about her face, creating a dark outline against such a bone-white, flawless face.

Frollo sneered, the edges of his lips curling upward as the executioner and a few of the soldiers under Frederic's command piled the wood around Esmeralda, with the executioner holding the lighted torch that would send this witch back to Hell itself.

Esmeralda swallowed as he slowly and methodically approached, like a panther in the night stalking its prey in shadows. Her head whiplashed upright in alarm, the fear unmistakable in her almond-shaped, pleading green orbs.

Claude did not bother to tamper down the wicked smirk that snaked its way across her face.

He would never dare admit it, but he cherished in the fact that he himself was able to instill the fear of God and His wrath into a person, especially a zingara, a gypsy witch such as this one, a servant of Lucifer, the devil himself.

"The time has come, _gypsy_ ," he began to address Esmeralda in a smooth, languid voice, drowning out the crowd of Parisians who had gathered in the square of Notre Dame, calling for the witch to be burned. "You stand upon the brink of the abyss. But even now, it is not too late. I can save you from the flames of this world and the next. You will choose _me_. Or the _fire_. Think of what I have offered you. Think very carefully. The lives of your Sun God and the blonde witch depend upon what you say to me next, mademoiselle. What is your answer?" he demanded, falling silent.

Her face was a mask of perfect apathy, rendering it almost impossible to discern what Esmeralda was thinking or feeling, though Claude swore he saw a flicker of the fear dart through her eyes.

His smile grew when she backed away as he inched closer, having to whisper his words into the shell of Esmeralda's left ear.

Her back was pressed firmly against the wooden pole of her pyre and she could go no further. Having her trapped and completely at his whims and mercy, trembling beneath him, he who would be her salvation and her _god_ , if she chose him, was arousing the Judge in ways that he himself had yet to understand.

She spat in his face. Claude made an odd, strangled noise at the back of his throat, recoiling away in disgust and wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand, watching her with a hot, burning rage boiling in the pits of his churning stomach hotter than molten lead the boy in the bell towers used to fix cracks in the brass bells he rang faithfully for the city of Paris like clockwork.

His grey eyes narrowed wistfully as he glanced towards the dancing flames, red and orange and yellow morphing as one color, from the lighted torch in his hand. Even now, her face was everywhere; it was all that Claude could see. Her pale, perfect face was permanently planted into his mind and Frollo could not rid himself of it, no matter how hard he tried.

Every time since the witch had danced in front of the crowd at the Feast of Fools, her bright, white smile would shine against his eyelids, even when closed or attempting to sleep.

Claude wanted nothing more than to carve it right off the witch's pretty face because it wasn't directed at him. When his eyes were open, all he could see were the girl's pale green eyes, beckoning him with just a single look. Except for those piercing eyes of pale forest, were never looking at him; they were always set on the Sun God. On _Phoebus_.

It made the Judge want to tear out Esmeralda's retinas. But oh, _God_ , Maria saves him, even now he could practically feel his hands running through her soft, raven ebony curls even now, feeling his fingers entangle themselves in her strands and—and— _No_!

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut while his brain struggled to process her displeasure towards him and her answer.

He knew he should not think of this heathen harlot, women such as this one were sent to the earth, put in men's paths to _test_ them, meant to stray the righteousness away from the path of Heaven's gates.

But Claude knew that telling himself wouldn't matter. Esmeralda had him around her little finger, and she wasn't aware.

Yet, she was always off with that golden-haired bastard that did not deserve her. De Chateaupers could not handle a woman like Esmeralda, and it stung and hurt like hell she'd not chosen him.

Even now, all Frollo could see was Esmeralda and the foreign feelings she brought out of him, whether he wanted them or not.

The _admiration_ , the _arousal_ , the _aggravation_ , the _annoyance_. He resisted the urge to stomp his foot, opting instead to shake his head violently, still holding the flame torch in his right hand.

Why could she have not just chosen him? Was death, and a painful one at that, really that much more preferable over him, the alternative? What did Captain Phoebus have that _he_ did not?

Claude might not have youth on his side, but even in his older age, his looks alone, thanks to his father's good looks, of which he and Jehan had both inherited, still managed to turn more than a few heads from womenfolk out and about when in the streets.

He was poised, well-dressed. He was intelligent, certainly much more so than that of his ex-captain of the guard. He was wealthy. And still, the witch had spelled Phoebus, and chosen him.

Claude couldn't take it anymore. She should have been _his_ , and his alone. He turned his head back towards the pyre, to her. His lips tilted in a wide grin.

Even now, he swore he heard her speaking to him, whatever form of witchcraft she was using, cementing the notion in his mind that the heathen witch needed to burn.

_Claude…set me free, Claude. Please… set me free…_

Some people would say that love made the heart grow fonder, but in Claude Frollo's case, his 'love' for Esmeralda was an obsession, and it only succeeded in making his heart darker.

He would give the heathen witch credit where it was due. He was, if nothing else, impressed with the girl for spitting in his face, he, who would be her death.

So, to speak, in a sense. God had chosen him to carry out the task of delivering this unholy demon back to the fiery pits of Hell from whence she came.

It pained him to kill her. But the girl had made her choice, from which there was no coming back. He was a patient man, yes, but the witch had pushed him over the brink, beyond his patience.

He held the torch overheard, beginning to speak to the massive wave of people, droves of them, all come to witness the burning.

"The gypsy witch, Esmeralda, has refused to recant!" he bellowed, though there was a horrible, fatigued ringing filling his eardrums, and he thought his own voice sounded faint, muffled.

Frollo barely knew what he was saying anymore. Scarlet red in his anger and frustration clouded his vision as he continued to address the crowd. He could feel his composure starting to slip as he divulged into something of a rage, but still, somehow, by a miracle of God, Claude maintained his dignified, languid tone, surprising even himself at the moment, considering how angry and betrayed he felt. She had…she had spat in his face! _Rejected_ him!

For that, he _hated_ her.

He could have perhaps loved her, but the witch had _made_ her choice. Claude blinked as he slowly came to the realization of what he was spouting to the crowd, who'd fallen silent. He lowered the torch in his hand.

"…And for her own salvation, and the justice of Paris and her people, it is my sacred duty to send this unholy demon back where she belongs!"

He paused as he closed off the gap of space, lowering the torch to her face just enough to see the sheen of sweat that had started to perspire along her forehead and down her temples, and until he could see the fear in Esmeralda's piercing eyes of green again.

Claude was almost slow and methodical in his movements as he lowered the burning torch to the wood surrounding the stake.

The scream that Esmeralda let out the moment the flames from the fire began to lick at the wood was the sort of scream that bypassed the ears and spoke right to the heart, and in Claude's case, his heart very nearly cried out in sick, sadistic pleasure.

He smiled in sick glee as he leaned in close enough and whispered only one word as Esmeralda continued to scream, to plead and beg for mercy, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she coughed, the fire blazing lazily around her, creeping closer, closer.

It was only one word that he uttered, but more than enough.

" _Burn_."


	38. Sanctuary

**Thanks, everyone for your patience! I got caught up in the midst of writing yet another HoND fic that is drastically different from this one that I hope to post soon on here, but I have not forgotten this story either and wanted to leave you this chapter as now it is finally getting to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy it!**

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**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Sanctuary**

**THE** scream that rent the air pierced the bell ringer's soul even worse than any blade could ever do, dealing a harsher emotional and physical blow, worse than Master Frollo ever could hurt him.

The burning below was sure to be a glorious slaughter if he couldn't manage to find a way to free himself and fast.

Gritting his teeth with the effort, he raised his head enough to peer down over the edge of the balcony, his slightly misshapen face illuminated from the shadows of darkness, in his anger and fear, giving the young man a truly monstrous appearance.

Testing the chains that bound him tight, Quasi inched his way forward enough to look over the side just in time to see the man who he had once called 'Father' light her pyre.

Esmeralda's pyre lit into flames, and the horrible, ear-piercing scream laced to the brim with heartbreak was too much to listen to.

Horrified at seeing perhaps one of his only few friends in his life dying in such a gruesome and painful way, because of him, Quasi screamed in both anger at what he'd led Esmeralda into and his failure at saving her.

But he knew, as he cast the briefest of glances towards his stone companions, those guardians of his life, that the three of them had been right. That he was made of something other than stone, the stubborn throbbing muscle, now little more than a quivering corded mess within his chest, threatening to stop beating.

" **ESMERALDA**!" His agonizing scream as her name was ripped from his lips, left his lips without any prompting on his part, feeling like his body was no longer taking directions from that of his own mind, his pale, ashen face flushed from both terror and excitement, thinking that all it had taken was his former master lighting his friend's pyre on fire for something within him to shift and snap.

Quasi saw nothing but red as everything else faded from his wretched, monstrous sight and he allowed his hidden, chained ferocity to seep its way, this time bidden to the surface, to overtake him for the first time in his young adult life. He welcomed it. If there had been doubting in his mind before when the gargoyles had attempted to convince him otherwise, it had all but fled his mind.

Quasi understood now what it was that he needed to do. He had to save the two women closest to him who had shown him nothing but acceptance, kindness, had given him their friendship, and in Madellaine's case, her _love_. And to think he'd almost thrown it away.

He could not stand by and allow Frollo to massacre what little of his life he had been able to experience, what precious little he'd gained. Not anymore. Not when he had so much to lose these days.

His heart pounded hard in his chest, hard rhythmic drumming that he could hear as the blood pounded in his ears. Every nerve on his body was on high alert. Every yell from the crowd down below, every scream from Esmeralda, though those were quickly fading as the flames rose higher and the young Romani woman lost consciousness had the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

He knew he had to escape from these damned chains, but it was now long imprisonment or even his own death that he feared now.

It was the thought that Esmeralda and Madellaine would be stolen from him. Seeing one of his only friends about to die a gruesome death in one of the most painful ways possible was perhaps the first time in Quasimodo's young life that he felt a horrible cold chill wind its way down his throat and squeezing its icy tendrils around the column of his throat and squeezing until he felt dizzy.

His body jerked, the chains rattling as he stepped back, his eyes remaining fixated on Esmeralda's burning pyre, and the only thing he could think of was saving the girl's life.

Quasi clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he allowed the feeling of uncontrollable rage to course through his bloodstream, and it felt good. He felt his muscles within his restraints give a twitch and he yearned for Esmeralda's life to be saved, and for his old master to face justice for his crimes. He yearned to make his master see the light.

It shook him. He wanted to make it stop, but he wanted to hurt his master for what he had done, the pain and suffering the Judge had inflicted upon the innocent citizens of Paris, who'd done nothing wrong in Master Frollo's ransacking of the city for Esmeralda. It was a truly horrible conflict. One he'd never felt before.

It yanked at him, tore at the bell ringer. Ate him apart, bit by bit. This foreign feeling that tugged at his heartstrings only lasted a split second, but Quasi's decision became clear enough as he felt his desire to see Master Frollo harmed dissipate from him, but those few seconds felt like an eternity. He needed Esmeralda and Madellaine by his side, especially the blonde.

He…he _wanted_ her. _Needed_ her, so badly that it physically ached. It was the strongest desire the desolate bell ringer ever felt. Stronger than his hatred for Master Frollo. Words were impossible to describe it. Angry though he was, he was _not_ going to harm his former master. As furious as Quasimodo was with Frollo, he didn't think that he had within him to _kill_ him.

_Let Phoebus do that_ , he thought savagely, and it was this little note of encouragement from his conscience that propelled the red-haired bell ringer into action. He took several faltering steps backward and looked to the left and right at the length of iron-wrought chains that held him in place. The bell ringer knew he needed to break free and fast if he wanted to get down in time to save his friends, and the rest of Esmeralda's people. Quasi gritted his teeth as he tensed the muscles in his arms, shoulders and back.

Quasi closed his eyes as he breathed through his flaring nostrils as he gave the cold metal restraints a tug of his wild, unadulterated strength that he worked so hard over the years to downplay, not wanting to startle Master Frollo with just how strong he _really_ was.

He inhaled a deep breath of cold air and summoned the repressed, monstrous strength within him, bidding it come out. Once he'd located it, he latched his entire being around it and focused his concentration on nothing else but breaking free of these chains, to save Esmeralda and Phoebus and Madellaine's and feel her lips move in sync in a kiss again, if she would even forgive him for the horrible way he had reacted, but first…he had to save their lives.

He gnashed his teeth together in his swelling rage as the adrenaline pumped relentlessly through his fiery ignited bloodstream, feeling the chains that bound him go taut and he swore he heard one of the chain links start to snap under the sheer force of the pressure of his movements as he continued to jerk and tug them.

He was so close now to his freedom and saving Esmeralda, he could almost _taste_ it. A new noise caused his ears to perk up in the distance as he swore that he heard his precious proud iron and brass bells singing to him, encouraging their master to continue his efforts to free himself. Jacqueline and Big Marie's resonating notes carried with their gentle tolls encouragement laced with a sense of urging, calling for Quasi to give of himself every last bit of strength he possessed.

Letting out a truly vicious, almost animalistic growl from deep within the confines of his broad chest, he gave his cold metal chains one last tug of his unadulterated and unrestrained strength, and almost smiled as the chains finally broke away from him completely. Unfortunately, the chains preciously keeping him suspended in place were not the only thing affected by the bell ringer's tenfold, almost god-like strength.

Notre Dame's bell ringer looked up above him with widened blue eyes as the four marble columns that the length of his chains had been wound around cracked, shattered, and fell away from their foundations, causing a thick, smothering cloud of dust and debris to form a smoky haze around the area where he had previously been imprisoned, with Master Frollo ensuring he had a front-row seat to the witch-burning in Notre Dame's town square below the church.

A startled cry escaping his lips, Quasi took a few staggering steps backward, coughing and shielding his face with his arms as the pillars fell.

Turning his head to the side to cough, Quasi felt one of his arms shoot out and wound itself around a pillar that was still standing.

Drained and exhausted from his ordeal, Quasi's lungs heaved to cough as he inhaled three or four deep, immensely satisfying breaths of the frigid cold air that would have otherwise sent him feeling cold.

But his burning lungs welcomed the biting cold of the fresh air, beseeching the enraged and terrified bell ringer to take in another breath, and it was in the midst of hearing a startled scream from a Parisian woman that spurned him into action, and he remembered what he had initially broken free of his restraints to do.

He lifted his face as the dust around him settled, his expression one of equal parts determination and a horrible, underlying rage just below the surface.

A muscle in his jaw and behind his good eye gave a spasmodic little twitch as he broke out into a dead run for the balcony ledge as he picked up a length of nearby rope, the same rope the newly appointed Captain Frederic of the King's Guard had used to bind his hands with when he and a small group of his men had led him back here and had chained him to the pillars that now no longer stood.

He worked so fast his movements were almost a blur as he secured the end of the rope to one of the gargoyles, shooting up a silent, grateful prayer that this was one of the ones who couldn't come to life, thinking it was sure to have something to say if it woke up and found a literal noose choking its neck in a vice grip, before he gave his head a curt shake to clear his mind, swinging himself off of the ledge.

Quasi used his weight to propel himself towards the north side of Notre Dame, though his heartstrings gave a pitiful quiver as from his high vantage point, he could see Esmeralda leaning her head back as far as she possibly could to avoid breathing in the smoke, but she was struggling to breathe, running out of air.

He had to hurry, his friend didn't have much time, and the flames crept closer to Esmeralda.

Letting a low growl escape from his chest at seeing the sickening look of glee and satisfaction on his former master's face was enough to cause the bell ringer to act, giving himself a tiny curt nod of understanding, shoving aside all former thoughts of his father for now. Master was no father figure to him anymore. Not after _this_.

Though something else caught his eye, a flash of familiar yellow that rested on an opposite wooden platform just to the left of Esmeralda's pyre, and he froze, what little color was left in his face draining in shock and dawning horror as Madellaine's face met his hardened gaze from her perch on the gallows, a noose around her neck.

And she…she…she was… _smiling_. Quasi blinked owlishly at the strange scene, almost choking on his own tongue at that.

How…how could Madellaine be… _smiling_?! She was looking relatively unharmed, though quite exhausted, the dark circles underneath both her lids suggested the young woman hadn't slept an ounce last night.

Though this fact along was enough to lift his spirits considerably, his heart gave a pitiful twist. He didn't have time to free them both!

Madellaine's icy-blue gaze continued to meet his head on, with that stupid new captain, Frederic de Marten, right by her side, ready to pull the lever that would cause the platform Madellaine was standing on to give out beneath her, and she would hang to death.

The sight of the dark-haired handsome captain sent his blood boiling even hotter in his veins, but Quasi had no _time_ for this!

Madellaine's ghost of a smile across her ashen features faltered, as the young blonde quickly realized, judging by the look on his face, what he was thinking, what he was feeling in the moment, because her expression shifted almost instantly, her tiny smile sliding off her face only to be replaced with a look of abject terror, horror, and hurt.

Madellaine gave her head a tiny shake of her head no, causing his heart to sink to the pit of his stomach as Quasi realized his choice.

His already pale face lightened a shade further before turning an interesting shade of green as horror and recognition alighted on his face.

Quasi squeezed his eyes shut, thinking he was going to be horribly, physically _sick_ at what he was going to have to decide now.

He had to choose which woman he wanted to save, and he didn't have much time to make it. Esmeralda and Madellaine's lives were counting on him both, and he didn't know which woman to save…

His heart gave a painful stab as Madellaine jerked her head towards Esmeralda's burning pyre, an admonishing expression on her face. Tears were filling her sky-blue irises, but she was smiling.

" _Go_!" she mouthed to him, almost angrily, as a single tear slid down her cheek. Quasi gave a curt nod, though this went against every fiber of his being, not to do what he could to help Madellaine out of her precarious spot, he would. He'd come back for her.

" _I promise_ ," he whispered, though he knew from this distance Madellaine couldn't hear him, however, he knew even as he spoke the words, he aimed to keep his word. He would not let anymore harm come to Madellaine. He'd protect her, as she'd once saved his life.

Because…because he _loved_ her.

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Claude blinked, swearing that he'd heard a cry from his adopted wretch, but he'd not been paying much attention, his gaze still fixated on Esmeralda. The witch had squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look as her imminent demise crept closer and closer, the flames licking at the pyre wood, creeping at an alarmingly fast pace.

She rested her head back against the stake, gasping for air, coughing, and struggling to inhale a breath of air without inhaling any of the black fumes from the smoke that would surely invade her lungs, though to no avail. Her head drooped as her body went limp.

A startled cry caused his head to whiplash sharply upright in search of the source of the disturbance. Before the Judge could fathom what was happening, as he was sure his mind was playing tricks on him, a hallucination, no doubt, caused by the smoke, his adopted son landed on the wooden platform, barreling forward on the heels of his leather boots, and untying _his_ prisoner, that filthy gypsy witch, causing Claude to reel back in surprise and anger as he spluttered indignantly.

He fully expected Captain Frederic's guards to take over from here at this point and rush the boy where he stood, but that moment never came.

Though Quasimodo, before any of the soldiers under Frollo's command could rush forward and rectify this problem, seized hold of the wooden stake now almost fully lit on fire and heaved it from the platform, summoning a little of his overwhelming strength that made the Judge gasp in a moment of unbridled fear and disgust.

The boy bared his teeth in a vicious, almost possessive snarl, his body language making it quite plain that no one was taking the witch from his arms, as he used the stake to shove the soldiers off the platform.

Watching the entire ordeal of his brother's demonic son grabbing hold of the rope once more, the Judge's eyes widened, and his ward's son left his lips as he bellowed it with the ferocity of an enraged bull, seizing on tufts of his thick, luscious salt and pepper hair and tugging on locks of his hair so hard the roots screamed in protest. " _Quasimodo_!" he growled, hardly daring to believe this.

The wretch had defied his order for the last bloody time, he knew, Claude thought scathingly, grinding his teeth in anger and annoyance as the only visible sign of the boy scaling the cathedral walls was his flaming shock of wavy ginger hair.

"Sanctuary!" the hunchback cried out in a loud roar that carried over the balcony of Notre Dame de Paris, the loudest Claude had ever heard the boy use his voice.

He held up the limp, unresponsive form of the heathen gypsy witch Esmeralda for all of Paris to witness.

The crowd roared their approval, some of them, others were outraged that the witch-burning had been horribly interrupted, their entertainment of watching one more witch die denied their pleasure.

His cry of defiance came again, and this only ignited the blood boiling in Frollo's veins even hotter as the demonic whelp rallied the people. "Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" he reiterated twice before retreating back inside, taking Esmeralda with him to an unknown safe place somewhere inside the cathedral, and Claude couldn't help but wonder if his brother's boy heard just how riled the people of Paris were now becoming.

For a brief moment, Claude wondered what Jehan would think of his son, monstrous though the wretch was, that demon, that monster, that hunchback, the boy was still Jehan Frollo's son, like it or not.

How had it ever come to _this_? He was supposed to _love_ him.

The boy was his cross, his burden to bear, set to him by God to care for him where Claude had so blatantly failed his young brother. Well. No matter. None of that mattered now.

"Guards," Claude growled through clenched teeth and rooted jaw as his slender, bony fingers curled into shaking fists. "Captain Frederic. Seize the cathedral. Do it _now_ , do you understand me?"

"B—but sir! The—the laws of sanctuary!" Captain Frederic stammered, sounded highly flustered and offended, who hadn't moved from his spot next to Claude's former hearth keep, the little fair-haired and even fairer-skinned blonde that it truly pained Claude to kill her.

Madellaine de Barreau could have had a good life, an honest life, and would have been well provided for, had she not interfered in his stupid ward's life and taken an interest in the accursed wretch.

"I negate the laws of sanctuary! Open those doors!" Frollo shouted, the last vestiges of his patience finally leaving his person, thinking that the moments standing outside of Notre Dame only fueled his anger and ignited the fire underneath his skin, like a spark lighted to wood and set it aflame.

As Esmeralda would have gone up in flames had Quasimodo not interfered, for the last damned time.

The boy was going to _pay_ and Claude himself would see to this little matter of his insolence _personally_ , and the witch, even La Esmeralda, that bohemian beauty, was even still alive, would be granted another chance, as he considered himself a _merciful_ man.

Judge Frollo gnashed his teeth together in anger as Captain Frederic shot him a rueful look, though never one to dare disobey a direct order, he followed orders like a good soldier, like the soldier that Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers should have been, had he not allowed himself to become spelled by the heathen gypsy witch.

Captain Frederic barked orders in rapid-fire French and commanded a couple of his nearby men to pick up the fallen and still smoking pyre beam, though they looked apprehensive about touching it. Of all the bloody damned accursed things to happen.

A _witch_ had to curse him, to get underneath his skin and plague his mind, making it so that Claude was no longer able to see straight, much less think coherently anymore, bringing people who had once been loyal to him underneath her spell, wound around her pinky.

There was no possible way that he, Claude Frollo, could be the villain in this whole debacle. The gypsy witch had _cursed_ him, had used her influence and magical knowledge of witchcraft to spell him.

No. Esmeralda had managed to twist his truth and cloud his mind with temptations and unholy thoughts and physical urges. Well, no matter. The witch, one way or another, would get what was coming to her like it or not, whether that be in this world or the afterlife.

Were that Esmeralda wasn't _stupid_ , he would have much preferred it if the witch had simply chosen him. He did not want to kill her, though Claude knew he had to do what he deemed a necessary evil. He could not afford to spare Esmeralda's life anymore.

The Judge ground his teeth together in anger and annoyance as he descended down the stairs of the wooden execution platform, preferring to take his time slowly and methodically, never rushing.

Even now, his mind was cold and calculating, separating his logic from his emotions as Claude realized what it was he needed to do. His anger rolled in his mind in staggering waves as his mind could only focus on seeing the witch, La Esmeralda, in Quasimodo's arms.

His prisoner, in the boy's strong arms. The sight was sickening. The demonic whelp did not _deserve_ to be in the same room as she.

No. She was not his. Not _yet_ , but _soon_ , she would be his, or she would die by his hands, and Claude himself would see to that.

Judge Frollo's steely, granite gaze couldn't help but to notice out of the corner of his gaze as he searched what was left of his soldiers and guards that hadn't scattered like frightened roaches the moment the boy had soared down from the towers and parapets of the cathedral, that Captain Frederic was releasing the blonde Barreau girl of the noose wound around her neck, shoving the wench forward so hard in his efforts to see her safely inside the cathedral that the blonde stumbled forward and squeaked in fear and surprise, and would have fallen were it not for Captain Frederic hauling her to her feet and guiding her to the doors.

He seethed. It truly was a _pity_.

Now he was going to have to kill Captain Frederic too for this unforgivable betrayal. He'd had high hopes for Captain Phoebus's successor, and it would seem that he too, carried a weakness of sorts over a _woman_.

Was there truly no _end_ to this godforsaken _madness_?! Apparently not.

The Judge let out a snarl as his thin lips twisted into that of a truly grotesque smirk as the flames of the now lit pyre behind him cast an eerie shadow of faint amber light upon his face, while the other half remained bathed in shadow.

A frightening image for an even more terrifying visage, as there was no warmth in Claude Frollo's handsome, angular face, or in his deadly pale grey-blue irises.

His eyes glazed over with horrible bewilderment, fury, and anger at how easily something so simple as an execution could go awry. His soldiers, damn every last one of them, were of no help.

Claude knew that he was just going to have to do it himself if he wanted to restore balance and order to his precious city of Paris.

He was something of a skilled soldier, trained in sword fighting when he was younger before Jehan had passed, the two would sparry all the time as young lads, and his form was stronger underneath than what his black robes would have the Parisians perceive of him.

It was befallen to him now to protect the city of Paris, rule it with an iron fist on behalf of His Majesty, King Louis 'the Prudent'.

He would outmatch Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, considering the man was still recovering from his wounds and in no shape to be holding a sword, at least not for extended periods of time.

If only Esmeralda could see that _he_ , not the Sun God, was the right match for her.

He, Claude, could shield her, protect her, provide for her, unlike Phoebus, whose interest was sure to wane after only having had one taste.

But Frollo knew he could give her so much more than that. Claude was experienced.

He knew the ways of men and women simply with one glance at them. Humans were all open books, every last one of them, Phoebus and the witch were no different, as were his adopted ward and Lucien Barreau's daughter.

A cry of rage left the man's thin lips as he stalked towards the cathedral door, almost the exact moment as the guards under Frederic's command had managed to penetrate the front door with the fallen wooden beam from Esmeralda's pyre that Quasimodo had so carelessly and unceremoniously tossed aside.

The Judge smirked.

_Foolish boy_. This mistake was going to cost the boy dearly. He hid his dagger up the sleeves of his robes, feeling grateful he had come prepared… just in case.

He rolled his neck and shoulders to crack them and groaned in annoyance at the stiffness in his joints.

His sense of uneasiness as he entered the eerily vast and silent cathedral dissipated the moment Claude rounded the corner and made to ascend the stairwell that led to the boy's north bell tower loft, or at least, he tried to but was halted by the old Archdeacon.

" _Frollo_! Have you gone positively _mad_?! I—I will _not_ tolerate this assault on the House of God!" he shouted, his face reddening.

A pressure in Frollo's head finally exploded as the Judge cut the Archdeacon off halfway through the beginnings of the man's rant, not in his right mind to listen to yet another admonishment from the older man.

" _Silence_ , you old _fool_!" Frollo barked in a rough, coarse, and grating voice as he jostled the man's shoulder with his elbow, throwing the clergyman down the remaining steps of the stairwell.

He felt a bead of sweat gather on his brow, in such a rush to reach Esmeralda that he almost forgot: Jehan's boy was sure to be guarding the heathen witch, even with her death imminent, under her spell.

Claude did not bother to look back over his shoulder as he heard the sickening crack of the Archdeacon's body hit the black and white checkered tile or listen to the elderly man's pained groan as the older man struggled to lift his head and blearily focus his gaze in front of him. He had matters to attend to and told the Archdeacon as much.

"The hunchback and I have unfinished business to attend to, and _this_ time…you will _not_ interfere," he growled, plunging his hands into the pockets of his robes for the key that locked the wooden door that led to the boy's tower loft, ensuring he locked it behind him.

His pale grey eyes were alight with rage at the realization of the challenge that Quasimodo may prove to be if Esmeralda was alive.

No matter. He would take care of the boy and the girl soon enough, and the witch would torment neither one of them any longer. She would be his…or she would die. That's all there was.

Nothing more, and nothing less. Claude stalked up the stairwell in a fuming mood, grinding his teeth, scarlet clouding his vision.

Judge Frollo was smart enough not to look back even once.


	39. Siege

**Hi folks and welcome back. I apologize for the delay in updating, I've been writing an Esmeralda/Phoebus/Frollo fanfic to post once this fic is mostly complete and got caught up with cranking out a few chapters for that within the next week or two, so be on the lookout for** **_What Makes a Monster_ ** **, coming soon! But in the meantime, I wanted to leave you with this chapter.**

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**Chapter Thirty-Nine:** **Siege**

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**MADELLAINE** wasn't quite sure just how it had happened, but she knew one thing was certain. She wasn't apt to forget the sight of the man she loved soaring down from Notre Dame like a god.

The image burned itself in her mind, sticking permanently there forever. Captain Frederic had wasted no time in untying her noose the moment Notre Dame's bell ringer escaped with Esmeralda in tow, cursing violently under his breath through gritted teeth about how this wasn't right, about how what Frollo was doing was insane.

Madellaine would have to agree with him on that regard.

"Hurry! Get to the church! I get you inside and you _stay_ there, belle!" came his deep, husky voice, low and urgent as he shoved her forward, pushing her slightly.

She squeaked and stumbled a bit in surprise, but Frederic did not apologize for his rough handling of her, and considering the dire circumstances they were in, she didn't blame her. Frederic's hand was on the small of her back, escorting her through the doors, Captain Phoebus safely at his heels, having managed to snag the keys to the prisoners' wagon from one of the more dim-witted guards. Frederic didn't stop until the three of them were safely within the cathedral doors.

"It's not going to be long until the rest of them come, I—I can hold off my men, but there's no telling where Frollo's disappeared to. I saw him right behind us, I—I think the Judge is already somewhere within the cathedral, love," he muttered darkly under his breath, looking wildly to the left and right, searching for a place to hide Madellaine from Judge Frollo.

Captain Frederic was not sure he could explain away what had compelled him to save Madellaine's life if his own life depended on it, and he knew that, as long as Frollo still drew in breath, by the end of the night, it just very well might.

He'd be lucky not to be _killed_. _Or at a minimum, arrested_ , Frederic thought bitterly to himself, gnashing his teeth in anger as he and Captain Phoebus scoured the main level of the cathedral's sanctuary, wanting to get her to safety.

A wave of cold fear washed over the young, dark-haired Captain's body and he averted his gaze to the thick wooden doors his own men under his command had been trying to breach.

"On _my_ orders," he murmured, feeling his heart falter and skip several beats as dawning horror and dread at what he had just done seeped its way to the surface, rendering his throat hollowed and feeling like he was likely to faint, and he would have, had Madellaine not shot out an arm to right his fall.

He shot her a grateful look and silently tried to thank the girl with his eyes. Piercing blue met dark forest green as she told him in no words at all that Frederic didn't need to, but he wanted to.

"You did what you thought was _right_ , Frederic," Phoebus spoke up from behind, his voice solemn and somber. "You could have let Madellaine hang and die a painful death, but you didn't. You were looking out for someone that you care about. You protected Madellaine, set her free. That more than makes up for your past transgressions in my mind, my old friend," he murmured softly.

Frederic nodded as he paused to survey the damage done to the wooden doors of the main level of the sanctuary, his heart shattering into a thousand untold fragments for perhaps the one place in Paris that he truly felt at home in.

He enjoyed how peaceful and quiet it was here, but now, he almost didn't recognize the place. The newly-appointed Captain took a deep breath to steady himself as he looked around. The door lay broken in, cracked, its wood splintered.

He had no idea what to feel anymore. He was a soldier betrayed, had gone against his code, and had sworn to serve and obey his commands. He barely moved, even when he felt a figure nudge beside him. Frederic stiffened as his lovely Madellaine belle, the one woman who would hold his heart, though hers would never be his, moved to stand in front of him, a strangely sympathetic look brimming in her crystalline-blue eyes, almost to the point of tears.

"Captain?" Madellaine was looking at Frederic with deep concern and worry, her brows knitted together in concern as her hand moved to rest on top of his right shoulder, giving it a light, friendly squeeze.

Frederic almost couldn't bring himself to look at her. Now, more than ever, he just wanted to be left alone, wanting nothing but peace.

"Frederic?" Madellaine's sweet voice came again, and this time, a brief hint of panic surged through, causing him to startle a little bit.

"I—I'm _fine_ , Madellaine belle," he attempted to reassure her, turning his head to the side, and forcing a smile, though the blonde was not at all convinced. She could tell Frederic's smile was strained.

"But you don't look it, monsieur. In fact, you look like you're going to collapse at any moment. Here, you—you should sit," she murmured sternly, squinting her eyes, and straining into the dark cathedral to look for a spare chair, or perhaps one of the pews had been left out from a prior evening Mass or Vespers appointment.

A pang of worry wormed its way into her stomach, causing a coil in her gut to twist and lurch as she realized none of the candles had been lit, that was the Archdeacon's job, and as she gingerly approached the stone spiral staircase that led towards the north bell tower loft, her heart lurched up into her throat as Madellaine recognized the faint familiar outline of the elderly clergyman sprawled painfully across the last few steps of the staircase, winded, and seemingly struggling to stand. He suffered from a broken foot.

She knew that man.

" _Father_!" Madellaine cried, rushing forward, and kneeling into a crouch as his title tore in a violent gasp from her lips as she raced to the barely conscious and injured Archdeacon's side, with Phoebus and Captain Frederic trailing right behind her.

Collapsing to her knees, not caring if her white execution dress was stained with dirt or ash at this point, Madellaine swallowed thickly down past the lump in her throat as she breathed slowly through her nose, closing her eyes for a minute, willing herself to be calm. She wasn't going to do the Archdeacon any favors by panicking.

The man needed her to be level-headed and very calm. Slowly opening her eyes, the young blonde gingerly turned him over as best as she could, with Phoebus's help in supporting his head.

She dared not to move him even a fraction of an inch more, for fear of making any one of his possible injuries worse until more help could arrive. She certainly wasn't strong enough to lift him on her own. Madellaine winced, drawing in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as her bright sky-blue eyes made a quick scan of the man's form. His skin was splotched with several darkening blotches, black and purple, on top of his hands and especially on top of his feet.

Upon first glance, the wizened clergyman appeared to have fallen.

Though that didn't sit right with the young blonde, as Madellaine recollected the few times having encountered the Archdeacon, for an older chap, the man was quite spry and able to move around in ease.

The Archdeacon, even in his old age, as nimble as he was, graceful in his movements, not at all a klutz like Madellaine knew herself to be, could not have simply fallen down the stairs. "You were _pushed_."

The words escaped her as a hushed, faint whisper before she could stop herself. The Archdeacon merely proceeded to give out a guttural pained moan from deep within his throat and turned his head away. Wincing, as delicately as she could, Madellaine took his contorted face and turned it back towards her. She tried her hardest to be as gentle as possible so as to not cause the old man pain, though her efforts were in vain and ill met as he let out a pained, startled gasp.

"Did _he_ do this to you?" Madellaine demanded, feeling the beginnings of her temper start to well within the pit of her stomach, exchanging a dark, knowing little glower with both men beside her.

The Archdeacon's response was a low moan in pain as Frederic and Phoebus worked together, bracing the man's back and neck with their hands as they helped one of the heads of the church to sit up.

Once the man was propped up against the stone wall of the staircase, he took in a few ragged breaths and after a wave of pain that wracked his body, the holy man seemed to regain some control of his senses and inhaled a shaking breath as he looked towards Phoebus.

"Captains, it's...good to see you both. I only wish...it were under...better circumstances," he murmured darkly, addressing the pair of soldiers, though he was cut off as he erupted into something of a violent coughing spell, having to turn his head to the side until it passed. It seemed to take him a moment to regain control of his ability to speak, and when he spoke again, his voice was harder, and angered. "I—it would seem that Judge F—Frollo h—has indeed gone _mad_."

Madellaine's face drained of color as a wave of cold fear wafted its way through her entire body as her blood in her veins went to ice. She was hardly aware of Frederic resting his hand on her arm, lingering longer than perhaps she would have liked, though for the moment, she took comfort in the gentle embrace. It was as she feared. _Frollo_ had done this.

"Where is he, monsieur?" she begged, hoping to keep the desperation and rising fear out of her voice.

"Upstairs," he grunted through gritted teeth. "The boy, he…in grave danger, F...Frollo means to...to kill him," but the poor man's voice trailed off as yet another coughing spell overtook him, and he was forced to cut himself short, though the Archdeacon did not need to finish his sentence for Madellaine to understand the weighted severity behind his statement just uttered.

" **NO**!" Madellaine screamed, bolting for the stairwell, though a strong pair of calloused and warm hands that she recognized belonged to her former betrothed had latched themselves around her middle and were holding her back from going up the north tower stairwell.

A brief flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye told her Phoebus had an ironclad grip around her waist and was dragging her backward, away from the stairwell, and away from helping Quasi.

"We—we can't just stand down here and do _nothing_! Have—to—save him!" she panted through gritted teeth as she grunted with the effort to free herself. "Let—me—go! **PHOEBUS**!" she screamed, wildly thrashing and kicking out against the soldier's strong grip, but to no avail. "We—we can't let him get _away_ with this!" she yelled, the girl not aware that fresh slick tears had escaped from her eyelids.

" _You_ are not going _anywhere_ , young mademoiselle, it's too dangerous for you to go up there," Phoebus barked in an unusually cold and stern tone, a hint of steel laced through the man's normally kind baritone that told her to listen.

Captain Frederic quickly nodded his agreement, his dominant gloved hand on the hilt of his sword in its scabbard.

"Find a room for the Archdeacon, my lovely Madellaine belle, and look after him there. You do _your_ part, let Captain Phoebus and I do _ours_. We will…we will save the hunchback and the gypsy girl," Captain Frederic murmured.

He spoke the words, though the dark-haired soldier's voice sounded like it lacked conviction to sell the argument he really wanted to make. Frederic turned on his heels and made to follow Phoebus up the stairs once he saw the girl offer a curt nod of her head, kneeling to the ground to help the Archdeacon to stand up, though the girl made an odd little strangled noise at the back of her throat that gave Captain Frederic pause and the man turned around.

"Do _not_ get yourself killed, Captain Frederic," Madellaine almost growled at the dark-haired captain, her face growing livelier with a mixture of fear and determination, and something else that the captain couldn't quite identify in her glistening bright blue irises. She took a cautious half step forward, biting down on her bottom lip as her eyes desperately searched hers for the truth. "I only wish that there was something that I could _give_ you…" She whispered, painfully twisting her hands together and resting them in front of her middle before nervously letting her hands fall to her sides limply.

Frederic wasn't sure what to say to that. He let out a tired sigh and pulled off one of his gloves, reaching up a finger to stroke her cheek. He wasn't quite as good at expressing his emotions as Captain Phoebus was, particularly around women, but he understood that this was something you did to comfort someone you cared about, to take away their pain and hurt. He hoped it was helping his belle.

"You should take care of yourself, my little Madellaine belle," he murmured. "Do not worry about me. Phoebus and I will be _fine_. Take the Archdeacon somewhere safe, barricade the doors and _stay_ there," he ordered, hardening his voice to almost a low wolfish growl.

"You sound like you're about to die," Madellaine whispered, horrified, trying to regain the upper hand in their conversation.

Captain Frederic smiled wryly, still continuing his gentle caressing of her cheek before tucking back a stray wisp of her blonde hair back behind her ear. "Maybe I _am_ , Madellaine belle," he responded, his voice deep, somewhat sly, but eerily calm despite what they all knew lay ahead for the two captains in confronting the insane judge now.

Madellaine blinked, hardly daring to believe her ears. "What?"

"My heart," Frederic murmured in a lowly voice. "I've only got the one, belle, you know. And…it's not mine anymore. So, this is it."

"Frederic—" Madellaine stammered, her cheeks flushing high with color, though she was cut off the moment Captain Frederic lifted his finger to her lips and gently shushed her, silencing the girl.

"Just let me _have_ this, Madellaine belle, please," came the dark-haired handsome captain's voice, for the first time since Madellaine had known him, sounding earnest and pleading, almost begging her.

Madellaine drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs.

"It's enough, it's more than enough, my belle, so just let me have this, if I am to die here tonight, let me have it," Frederic murmured, one of his hands resting in the back of her skull, his fingers finding purchases in her blonde tresses.

"What is?" she whispered, hardly aware she was practically leaning into the soldier's chest, her voice so faint, her words were as wind, barely above a whisper. "What's enough, Captain Frederic?"

"For you to have my heart, Madellaine belle," he whispered, smiling a little at her dazed and nonplussed reaction.

Before Madellaine could fathom what was happening, Frederic's lips were pressed against hers in a gentle but passionate kiss, a secret moment of theirs that would never come to light, an acknowledgement of the captain's unrequited love for the young blonde former hearth keep of Frollo.

Frederic broke apart first, his forest green eyes like that of moss on a tree sparkling with a tenderness Madellaine hadn't seen in him before. She swallowed down heavily past the lump in her throat and blinked back tears as she moved to stand alongside the Archdeacon, throwing an arm over the man's shoulder and supporting his weight.

"Be _safe_ ," she whispered. "Frederic… I—I _care_ about you, in my own way, I...I do, monsieur," she said at last, biting her lip as though unsure of whether or not to continue, though she feared that she may not get another chance. "I know that you and I didn't get off on the right foot, but…you're a _good_ man, Frederic," Madellaine whispered. "I hope you know it."

The dark-haired soldier smiled as he met the blonde's gaze. "You will be able to hold your love in your arms again once the Captain and I take care of the Judge," he promised, smiling sadly, turning on his heels to ascend the stairwell that would surely lead to his doom if he and his former captain weren't careful in their plan.

Captain Phoebus looked surprised and nonplussed for a moment, though the golden-haired Sun God was the first to recover at the kiss that Frederic had just given Madellaine that didn't seem, in his mind as a casual observer to the side, entirely unwanted by the blonde lass. "No matter what, Lena, we'll make sure he comes back to you."

"Thank you, Captain Phoebus and Frederic. Both of you. Come back to us," she begged, and Phoebus and Frederic nodded, both men able to see tears welling up within her eyes, but before either man could think of something to say that would bring her comfort, Madellaine reached up and flicked away a stray tear with her finger.

"It's—it's all this dust," she whispered, unable to help the weak little chuckle that escaped her lips as she shifted her arm to rest on the Archdeacon's waist as she shuffled off with the injured man in the opposite direction, prepared to take the clergy to one of the spare cloister cells on the main level of the sanctuary near their kitchens.

Madellaine risked one last glance over her shoulder before escorting the Archdeacon into the nearest cell, her heart giving a painful little lurch as Phoebus and Frederic wasted no time in disappearing up the stone stairwell that led to Quasi's north loft.

She let out a sigh and blinked back a fresh wave of tears as she turned her back, trying and feeling like she was failing not to give too much heed to the notion that ran through her frazzled mind as her eyes returned to the path in front of her. For some reason, Madellaine couldn't quite shake the feeling of dread and horror that she would never see Phoebus's friend, Captain Frederic, ever again.

* * *

Esmeralda's form was limp and unresponsive in his arms. Swallowing thickly down past the lump forming in his throat, his skin and face flushed with terror and excitement, he wildly looked for a relatively safe and out of the way place to hide her while he thought of a plan to keep the rest of Mater Frollo's soldiers at bay.

In his search, he came upon a spare room that rested on the same level as his tower.

Kicking open the door with the edge of his leather boot, he wasted no time in stepping over the threshold and placing her as gingerly as he could on a hard-looking cot at the far end of the room, praying to God, if He would even _listen_ to a _monster_ like him, that Esmeralda would be safe here, that he could save Madellaine too.

He did not think that he could explain away the events that had just occurred to himself right now even if his very life depended on it. His wretched heart thundered vigorously within his chest at the realization of just how pale and taut Esmeralda's skin looked, almost… _lifeless_. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he tasted bile rising at the back of his throat that he forced himself to swallow, not even wanting to entertain such a _horrible_ thought.

Timidly, he reached out a gloved hand and brushed Esmeralda's forehead with feather-light fingertips, moving aside a few wisps of her ebony curls, wincing, and almost withdrawing his hand back into himself as he realized just how hot and clammy her forehead was.

His stomach squeezed painfully at the thought that she might be developing a fever, though he supposed it could still be heat from the pyre that she had just narrowly escaped a very painful death from.

Spotting a small side table where a chipped bowl of water was kept, he hobbled over to the table and dunked a nearby old rag that he used to normally polish the bells, mumbling a silent prayer under his breath as he hoped the rag was clean before wringing it out with his gloved hands and shirking as the fabric gave beneath his grip.

The poor man began to shake as he realized that Esmeralda was relying on him to be calm and composed, if he were to help her heal. Though with the copious amounts of anger and adrenaline surging through his bloodstream and igniting the blood within his veins, it was honestly a God-given miracle that he'd not broken the bowl as he clutched it firmly in one hand, and held steadfast to the rag in the other, though his hand was shaking so badly, he practically almost spilled water all over the hardwood floor beneath his boots.

Blowing out a shaking breath through his nose, trying to ignore the hollowing of his throat and his trembling fingers, he reached up and cupped the back of Esmeralda's head in his palm. The proportions between his friend's head and that of his own gloved hand were so alarmingly different, he almost felt angry with himself.

Disgust and shock at just how monstrous he truly was, as Quasi realized he could easily crush Esmeralda's skull, and he wouldn't even have to try that hard in order to do it. He truly was a monster…

Quasi gritted his teeth and shook his head, thinking he had little time for his and there were more important things for him to worry about than his own self-pity. He sponged at her brow and forehead, wiling her heated skin cool a little.

"Don't worry," he whispered, letting the rag fall into the basin of water as he set aside the little bowl back on the side table, the back of his hand tenderly stroking her cheek, "You will be _safe_ here," Quasi promised, lowering his voice.

His eyes never left Esmeralda's still, sleeping form. His skin even now still felt the tingle of her touch. He found that for a moment, all he could do was stare at his friend. The planes and angles of her angelic features were illuminated by the firelight from outside.

"I promise, I _will_ be back," he whispered, his voice warbling slightly due to the copious amounts of adrenaline flooding his body.

Quasi had been about to say more to Esmeralda, hoping that somehow, even in sleep, she could find a way to hear him, in her own way. Before he could so much as utter the first syllable, however, his master's angered voice rent the air, loud enough to carry to his tower.

He glanced towards the door out of nervousness, though held back against his fear, thinking now was not the time nor the place. Quasi had made it this far, but now, the time had come. It was time to end it. He turned back towards Esmeralda, smiling softly at how peaceful she looked, lost in the throes of her sleep, and he continued to smile at his friend, though he knew she couldn't see it.

"I _will_ come back," he whispered softly. "I _promise_ , my friend." And then he bolted towards the door, a plan forming in his mind, though as he wrenched open the door, he let out a pained gasp as a dark shadow fell upon the room, and he froze as the towering silhouette of his former master stepped over the threshold of the room and closed the door behind him, the unmistakable glint of a dagger in his hand.

A yelp left his throat as his eyes landed on _him_. The moment he first laid eyes on Frollo, Quasi's mind couldn't quite process the information. His mouth went dry and his chest seized, making it feel as though it had caved in terror and shock. His body somehow looked taller and stronger as he stood to his fullest height, even underneath his set of billowing black silk robes, the Judge looked every bit a formidable warrior just as Phoebus was.

When Frollo took a step forward, Quasi stumbled backward in his haste to retreat and collided with the small wooden side table, the small wooden bowl of water that he'd used to sponge off Esmeralda's forehead clattering to the wooden floorboards beneath his boots with a loud, resounding clang! that instantly made the man flinch.

Out of the corner of his one good eye, he saw that Esmeralda hadn't even stirred at the noise, and it didn't look as though she were breathing. He felt a stab of panic prick at his heartstrings as Frollo approached him as he continued his mad scramble backward in his effort to put as much distance between himself and Frollo as able.

He winced as his back pressed against the cold stone of the platform upon which the cot that he'd laid Esmeralda to rest on was supported, though he could not tear his gaze away from the knife.

Master's actions were controlled. Never rushed, but that was nothing new.

Master Frollo in all the years he had known the Judge, had never once hurried, or rushed. Even when things went horribly wrong, Claude Frollo always seemed unaffected. He felt tears prick at the edges of both his lids as he came closer and waited for Master Frollo to strike him down. He knew his chance of escaping was slim.

Master would catch him before he could take Esmeralda and get within two feet of the door. Frollo could snap him in half like a twig if he wanted, but something told the bell ringer he would much rather use the dagger that he held in his hands, twirling it slightly.

He was silent when entering the room as he stalked towards where Quasi cowered on the floor, quite literally cornered until he could go no further. Master's attention was not fixated on him as he had expected, but rather, on Esmeralda's limp, unresponsive form.

"Is she _dead_?" he breathed in a low and dangerous voice, craning his neck slightly to get a better look.

The girl appeared to be merely asleep. Her whole body was relaxed and looked to be at peace as she rested against the makeshift cot of this spare cloister cell up here. She was not shaking in fear or anger, but she was still. _Lifeless_.

"N— _no_ …" Quasi breathed, not wanting to dare believe his master's words, that Master Frollo could have killed Esmeralda.

"Call her _name_ , boy, see if she answers," the Judge taunted the moment the bell ringer turned back around, groveling on his knees at this point as Quasi wildly scrambled to kneel by Esmeralda's makeshift cot, not wanting his master's words to ring true at all.

"E—Esmeralda, wake up!" Quasi winced as his voice practically quivered and broke as his lips formed her name and the command.

His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach when her face remained unchanged and his friend did not respond to her name. Cruel sobs welled within his broad chest. She—she couldn't be dead. Not after what he went through in order to save her life.

His mind reeled at the notions forming in his horrible thoughts. He swallowed hard, forcing back the sobs that threatened escape. Quasi felt his wretched vision begin to blur with fresh tears as a choked sob wracked his body that he did not try to fight against it. She was well and truly _dead_. Frollo had succeeded in killing her. A torrent of bitter and betrayed tears traveled down his ashen face. His heart now broken, and his mind struggling to grasp onto the truth.

His tears continued to stream unrelenting down his cheeks. His thoughts were only focused on Esmeralda and the life she would never get back, and what Master Frollo had cruelly _taken_ from her. The life he had dreamed of with Esmeralda by his side as his friend was gone, and he felt as though he'd lost a part of himself.

Shattered again, now much worse than anything else Frollo could have inflicted on him, Quasi's anguished thoughts pivoted around Madellaine. He could only conjure phantasm images in his mind of how the young blonde was going to take the news her friend was dead, as she'd become quite close to Esmeralda over these weeks.

How much it would kill her to learn that Esmeralda was dead. "I—I'm so sorry, my friend, you...did not deserve this…" he spoke desperately into the darkness, reaching out one of his gloved hands and giving her cold hands a squeeze, not wanting to relinquish his grip. "I'm so _sorry_ ," he wept uncontrollably, no longer giving a damn what Frollo thought of him.

His shoulders began to heave in release of his life's worth of anguish and pain. His already screaming throat aching for relief, hot, fresh, unrelenting tears marring his eyes and impairing Quasi's sight.

Quasi felt a strong hand latch itself onto his shoulder, and he did not even have to look up to feel Master's towering silhouette nudge beside him as his dark, lean shadow descended over Esmeralda's cot.

"You _killed_ her," he growled to Master Frollo bitterly, in a hardened voice that sounded like steel, it didn't sound like his usual quiet, reserved, tenor-like tones at all. "She's dead because of _you_."

"T'was my _duty_ , my son, as horrible as it was, I hope that in time, you can manage to forgive me. Now we can finally go back to the way things were, you and I," answered Claude Frollo's listless baritone, his voice eerie, chillingly calm. It sent a chill down Quasi's twisted vertebrae, though the man made no move to get up at all.

Quasi stiffened as Frollo's hand moved down his back, and his ironclad grip that threatened to break the bones in Esmeralda's hands slackened at the man's words. Something did not feel right at all.

The Judge continued speaking, not giving the young man a chance to ask a question of his own that burned on his tongue.

"I can understand your pain, my son. I truly do. I loved my brother once. Perhaps not as great a bond as the two of you shared, but I loved him, nonetheless. Perhaps…I can help you, my son, as I always have, my boy." His voice trailed off as Frollo paused in contemplation. "Perhaps the time then, has come, my son, for you to finally find the _peace_ in _death_ that you cannot seem to find in _life_."

Quasi's eyes widened as he bolted to his feet and whirled around on his heel, just in time for a gasp of horror to leave his lips as his master raised the long dagger he'd hidden up the sleeve of his robe.

Frollo was going to kill him.


	40. From the Ashes

**Chapter Forty: From the Ashes**

**“SHALL** I call for one of the nuns, Your Grace? S—surely, they would be more equipped to handle this than I would, Father,” Madellaine asked worriedly as she tried her hardest to tend to the Archdeacon’s bruises, and feeling like she was failing, given her mind was admittedly on other things, at the moment, namely praying that Quasi would be safe, though she continued her diligent efforts of tending to the Archdeacon, sponging at his bruised and battered face and neck with a damp, cool cloth.

With a frustrated huff, the young blonde reached over to the small wooden side table to wring the rag out, though she paused when she couldn’t be sure, she swore that she heard the sound of a shout. The Archdeacon grimaced painfully as he shot the object of the bell ringer’s affections a grateful look.

“You may be no skilled healer nor apothecary or doctor, young mademoiselle, but I would sooner have your young and nimble hands tend to an old man’s wounds than any of our sisters, who have enough on their hands right now. Besides, I heard…rumors that you were the one who mended Captain Phoebus’s shoulder, milady,” he murmured darkly under his breath, chuckling slightly as the blonde’s cheeks flushed a bright red, though she quickly nodded her head, confirming the truth to the rumors.

The old man sighed, casting a wary, heartbroken look toward the barred window. And this was even truer still. He would rather much have her tend to him than one of the nuns, as the sisters and lay brothers had their hands full scouring for wounded in need of medical attention, hoping to provide what little aid they could to the wounded, fighting civilians.

In the last five minutes alone, the fighting outside had grown worse for the people of Paris who’d taken up arms against Frollo’s insanity. A bloody, violent massacre, and the Archdeacon and Madellaine almost did not want to look out the window of the cloister cell that she had managed to escort the holy man to lay and rest.

Chaos ensued the moment the bell ringer had snatched up Esmeralda, half of over a dozen of Frollo’s loyal soldiers pursued the rallied Parisian citizens who weren’t about to stand for the massacre of their great city any longer, nor the attempted siege on the church.

The loud clatter of iron against iron, for those who were fortunate enough to own sword, or iron against the wood, in most peoples’ cases as they used whatever means available to them to fight, resonated, and the cobblestone ground street of the Notre Dame town square drowned in the screams of the wounded and dying.

Frollo’s men and sellswords raved their path without giving the ordinary citizens, farmers, peasants, not fighters, the chance to recuperate, much less dress up for battle. The ambush was apt to be a glorious slaughter.

Madellaine pursed her lips into a thin line and forced her attention back towards the rag in her hands, which were shaking badly. She exhaled a slow, steadying breath through her nose, closing her eyes before sponging it across the holy clergyman’s blackened eye.

“I would tell you this is going to _hurt_ , Father,” she joked weakly, “but then I think I would merely be stating the obvious, monsieur.”

With those words, Madellaine gently applied as much pressure to his now-closed eyelid as she dared, ensuring the cool water lingered on his blackened eye in the hopes to bring down the swelling. The Archdeacon sucked in a sharp breath that pained his lungs, though that was the only noise that he made, God bless him.

When Madellaine had finished, the young blonde former hearth keep of Judge Frollo backed away, the nervousness that had disappeared when she had begun work on tending to the holy man’s wounds now coming back to her full force in form of her panic.

The fact that neither Captain Frederic nor Phoebus had returned was _troubling_ , it vexed her heart and soul, to put it politely, being she was in a House of God and couldn't rightfully say what she truly thought of what Frollo was doing, how the man and tyrannical Judge was out of his mind insane, and she thought it a miracle that she could even breathe right now as it felt as though her heaving lungs gasped for air, her eyes dilated even in the welly-lit cloister room, thanks to several candles scattered throughout the simple room as the Archdeacon lay his head back against a mountain of pillows on top of a rather hard-looking but stern cot that would support his weight.

Surely, Phoebus or Frederic would have come back by now…something was horribly, terribly _wrong_ , she could feel the icy tendrils of Death itself work its way up her slender body in the form of a shiver until its cold fingertips wound around the column of her throat, much like poison ivy would to a pillar of marble or stone.

She shivered, though not with the cold. Madellaine wrung her hands nervously, biting at the wall of her mouth until the Archdeacon’s faint baritone voice broke the uneasy silence between the two of them that lingered in the air like suffocating poison.

The Archdeacon heaved a heavy groan as he propped himself further upright on the mountain of goose feather fluffed pillows behind his head, hoping to soothe the young blonde lass and convince the young woman who was helping him that she was making the right choice by obeying the soldiers’ orders and remaining down here in the spare cloister cell, where she’d be safe.

“We cannot help the boy even if we _try_ , my dear Madellaine,” continued the Archdeacon in a grim and somber voice as he watched the young blonde cock her head to the side, straining her ears for any signs of a sound—a cry of pain, a shout, a victory cry, anything, before she then tilted her head back to look towards the ceiling, her burning blue eyes almost burning a hole through the ceiling with the sheer intensity and antagonizing hurt of her heartbroken glower.

His heart fractured slightly as the young woman slowly swiveled her gaze back to look at him with such concern brimming in her sky-blue eyes, the likes of which he’d not seen in a young woman before.

Particularly not when it pertained to Quasimodo, though even the Archdeacon admitted, the sight warmed his soul, in a macabre sort of way.

There was no telling whether or not the boy was still alive, and to see a young woman, a normal woman, harbor romantic feelings for the kind and gentle giant that lived in the towers, was, well, touching. He only hoped that the boy had it within himself to take care of the girl and hold out hope until the soldiers could arrive.

“We—I—I shouldn’t have listened to Frederic or Phoebus, I—I should go up there!” Madellaine whispered in a foreboding voice that sent a chill down the elderly clergyman’s spine, rendering him momentarily struck dumb, and at a loss for what to say to the girl.

“It’s _not_ what our bell ringer would _want_ for you, young mademoiselle!” said the Archdeacon, raising his voice an octave and with more vigor and earnest so Madellaine would be forced to take a moment for herself for her brain to wrap itself around his statement. “Something tells me that if he were here in the room with us right now, that Quasimodo would want you _safe_ , _away_ from all of _this_ ,” he murmured in a pained voice as he swept his arm toward the window, before flitting his gaze briefly upward to the ceiling above.

Madellaine de Barreau’s crystalline-blue eyes hardened and almost turned to ice as she stared at the aging, exhausted Archdeacon, which gave him pause as he pondered her expression.

He had not realized, until perhaps this exact moment in time, just how much the depth of the connection between this young lass and their only bell ringer ran. For the boy to show an interest in one of the few young women to have shown him an ounce of kindness, well, he could understand it, though for the woman in question to reciprocate those feelings…that suggested something else on her part.

And it was something that the Archdeacon was ashamed to admit, he feared. He feared how recognizable it was, and what kind of a life she would be leading were she and their church’s bell ringer ever to take initiative and make their feelings known in front of the eyes of their Lord their God and if they were to ever marry one day.

She would be shunned, rejected from polite society because of him, what he was, there was no denying that truth of the bell ringer. The Archdeacon coughed once to clear the awkward silence and attempt to steer the torpid whirl of unpleasant thoughts in his mind in a new direction.

“Who helped you to escape the gallows, then, milady?” the older man spoke to the young blonde after a few minutes of more silence.

Madellaine cringed, forcing herself to look into the holy man’s strangely sympathetic gaze as he continued questioning her on how she’d managed to escape death’s clutches.

“Was it Frederic? I wouldn’t be surprised,” he chuckled lightly. “He’s held a soft spot for you these last few months, milady, but you do not return it.”

Madellaine had nothing to say to this, she could only blink owlishly at the holy clergyman in response. Here they were, chatting about how Captain Frederic had helped her escape a horrible fate, while God Himself only knew what was happening on the upper level. She couldn’t help herself as she glanced despairingly up at the ceiling once more, her blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling wall.

The Archdeacon noticed the movement, of course, and sighed. “I _know_ you’re thinking of going up there, child, but I would be remiss if I did not do my duty as the Archdeacon and advise not to.” The old man grunted with the effort to lean himself off of his mountain of pillows and reached out a shaking hand to pat her arm rather clumsily and awkwardly, but nevertheless, it comforted her. “It’s not your _fault_ , you know, nobody blames you for this.”

“I—I should have tried to plead with the Judge, Your Grace,” Madellaine heard herself saying in a voice that did not sound like her at all as she leaned over the Archdeacon’s frail form to fluff one of his pillows for him before his head collapsed back against it with a sigh. “I feel like it’s _my_ fault somehow that Quasi and Esmeralda are in danger. I—I could have stopped it, somehow, maybe...” the girl whispered hoarsely, a truly miserable expression etched on her face, her blue eyes wrought with worry, the skin of her brow pulled taut.

“Judging by what we know of Claude Frollo’s character, young mademoiselle, your defending of our church’s bell ringer would have only incited Frollo’s anger even further, my dear child. I had thought once years ago, there was hope when Frollo took him in, but I can see now that I was wrong in that regard,” the Archdeacon growled sadly.

His green kind eyes were vivid and piercing, hardened, and the look he shot her sent a chill down Madellaine’s spine and rendered the blood in her veins to ice as his facial muscles steeled and hardened. He knew something of Quasi’s parentage, she was sure.

“His…his parents? Quasi’s parents?” Madellaine asked carefully as she perched herself on the edge of the Archdeacon’s cot ledge.

The Archdeacon hesitated, drawing in a shuddering breath, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed the blonde’s current mood. He must have decided that he could trust her with the tale he was about to recant, for he took a deep, slow breath before speaking.

“This was twenty years ago, shortly before Christmas Eve. The sun had only begun to tease its scanty warmth. I encountered the Judge standing atop that black Friesian steed of his on the front steps of Notre Dame, a woman lying lifeless and bleeding from her head by the entrance, a crying infant in his arms. He was, he was trying to…he would have, the Judge… I …he would have _drowned_ Quasimodo as an infant had I not arrived in time to stop the man.”

Though the Archdeacon’s tale was brief, his words now spent as he looked once more out the window, Madellaine’s eyes remained fixated on the holy man’s, desperately searching the man’s piercing eyes of green for any hint that the clergyman might be lying to her.

She wanted to laugh at him hard for just that notion, that the Archdeacon of Notre Dame de Paris could ever utter a single lie.

But the laughter Madellaine knew she ought to summon quickly turned into hot water brimming in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Her chest was undulating with a horrible pressure which vented off as a wretched sob she tried to swallow but couldn’t.

Slick tears poured from both her lids without her even realizing she had started to cry. Madellaine continued to stare at the Archdeacon, wildly trying to collect her muss of jumbled thoughts and deal with the feelings that hit her squarely in the chest, as though a lance had just been shoved through her breast.

Her throat hollowed, constricting so tightly until it felt as though she could hardly breathe an ounce. She blinked owlishly at them, feeling as though her lids were effectively moisturizing the organs that she no longer had use for.

Stunned. _Stunned_. It seemed to be the only word befitting enough for the tale that the Archdeacon had briefly divulged to her.

She was grateful that he had chosen to share the information, though as she gave her head a curt shake in disbelief, it all felt like entirely too much to take in at once, coupled with the horrible feeling of dread that she might never see Quasi, Esmeralda, Phoebus, or God help him, even Frederic again, was entirely too much now.

“I—I can’t believe this, monsieur,” Madellaine breathed, clamping a hand over her mouth, and swallowing back the bile that crept up her throat.

She uncovered her mouth and raised her hand to her forehead, hoping to make sense of the information just revealed to her.

“I…I’d always wondered, assumed, even, there was more to his past. He—Quasi, he told me Frollo told him that he was unwanted, left abandoned on the steps of Notre Dame to die out in the cold.” Again, she shook her head, not wanting to believe the older man’s words as she met his gaze, though there was no trace of jest or dishonesty in the man’s sympathetic and heartbroken gaze as she looked. It was almost too much for her to look. She turned away.

“I would not lie to you,” the Archdeacon said somberly.

Madellaine quickly nodded her agreement, not wanting the clergyman to misunderstand the meaning behind her words.

“I—I believed the story that Quasi told me. That he was unwanted, an outcast. That my— _our_ master,” she quickly corrected, scorching heat of anger flaming her cheeks, “had some small modicum of decency, however minuscule. He took him in. I—I wanted to believe that he was capable of even one act of kindness.”

“I know,” the Archdeacon murmured sadly, a shadow of regret flitting across his weathered features. “Were that I wish I could have told the boy the truth sooner. I—I should have done it long ago…”

His voice cracked and broke as he trailed off. Madellaine parted her lips open to speak, though whatever words she was about to say died upon her tongue the moment a truly loud shout coming from somewhere above shattered the air, rendering her blood glacier cold.

 _Frollo_. She recognized that shout. “I—I can’t _take_ this anymore,” Madellaine moaned, bolting to her feet, and practically launching herself forward on the balls of her feet, her blue orbs now bright and fierce with a smoldering determination and passion that the Archdeacon had never seen in her as she met the man’s gaze.

“I—Frollo has to be stopped, Your Grace, and if there’s anything I can do to help… I don’t think I could forgive myself if I just stood by and did nothing while my friends suffered up there,” She whispered, her voice trailing off as the sound came again as she lunged for the closed door of the cell, though this time, the shout that sounded like it was coming from that of a wounded dog or some other beast made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand upright.

Madellaine froze, her face turning pallid as it drained of colors. She suddenly felt as if an icy hand had wound its cold tendrils around her heart, squeezing the throbbing, quivering muscle in her chest so tightly that it felt as though she could barely get a breath in.

It was so hard that she almost cried out in pain.

 _Quasi_. The man was in danger, so was Esmeralda for that matter. Madellaine didn’t know how she knew this to be the truth, but she had no time to doubt or question these feelings. There was something dark and foreboding upstairs near the man’s bell towers, and her worry and concern for everyone up there except Frollo escalated to a new high.

The Archdeacon let out a pained gasp, though when he attempted to swing his legs over the ledge of the bed in an effort to stand to prevent the young blonde from leaving his side, he yelled. A jolt of white-hot flaring pain swelled in his temples, rendering him dizzy, blackened spots in his vision, with no choice but to stay put. “If you—if you go up there you will _die_ , young mademoiselle.”

The shout from above came again, causing poor Madellaine to jump out of her skin at the unexpected noise as her head whiplashed sharply up to look towards the ceiling again, her eyes widening as dawning horror lit up her eyes.

“I know,” she murmured, lowering her head, and looking down at her hands, twisting them painfully. “But…I cannot stand down here not knowing if the man I _love_ , my _friends_ , aren’t safe. If Frollo is allowed to do to _him_ what he did to his _mother_ …” Madellaine trailed off as her voice cracked and drew in a deep breath as her face paled even further and turned a pale green. She didn't even want to stomach that unpleasant thought.

“I _know_ you love him. And I know it’s _true_ love, not bought by gold and silver as the more ill reputable citizens of Paris would think of you, if you two were ever to…” the Archdeacon murmured softly.

His voice trailed off as he cast his eyes towards the young blonde. “Alas, that these _evil_ days should be mine. The young perish like this, and the old linger but what more is there to be done, my dear, Frollo has gone utterly mad, and if you go up there, the only thing that you will do for yourself is to get yourself _killed_ , my child,” the Archdeacon said quietly, hearing the young blonde lass make an odd, muffled noise from the back of her throat. She looked as if she were going to be _sick_. Understanding hit her in a sickening revelation.

He was going to kill Quasi. Kill Esmeralda first, and then the church’s bell ringer, and then, she would have nothing left but his memory. Madellaine bit down on her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, the protectiveness numbness, the wall around her heart that she’d build the moment her Papa had drawn in his last breath, threatened to crack and crumble right now.

In a disturbing moment of lucidity, Madellaine blinked as the yell came again, shattering her out of her frazzled state of mind, having almost forgotten for a split second that the man she loved was upstairs somewhere on the second level of the cathedral on borrowed time, and if she didn’t hurry, she would never be able to tell him…

To tell him that she loved him. Finally, she understood what it meant to love another so much that she would do whatever was within her power to make sure that her loved ones were not hurt. That of her own personal safety and eternal soul be damned; if she had to live the rest of her life with any of her friends’ blood on her conscience because she’d failed to act and not gone after Frollo, she would never sleep again and might as well just poison herself.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Madellaine murmured in a hoarse whisper as she blinked back tears, surprised she could even summon the strength to speak at all. “But I can’t stay here any longer. I have to know if he…”

 _If he’s alive or if he’s dead_ , is what she wanted to say, but couldn’t.

And before she lost her strength or resolve, before the Archdeacon could open his mouth to vehemently protest this idea, to say that it was more or less madness and suicide if she did this, she silently prayed to God or whichever of His angels was looking out for her, though she liked to think that it was her Papa, that the Archdeacon would forgive and pardon her soul for what she knew she had to do.

Perhaps it was selfish to think of her own life in such little regard but allowing a mass murderer to rob her of the man she now knew herself to be madly in love with, she couldn’t stomach it. Her stomach twisted and rolled with nerves and a sickening sense of fear, and she forced herself to swallow back down the bile.

If she was going to get sick, then she could at least have the courtesy to do it on Master Frollo’s shined black leather boots.

Too soon, her quivering hand’s slender fingers latched themselves around the door handle of the spare cloister cell.

With one last glance over her shoulder at the weakened and frail, pleading form of the Archdeacon resting comfortably in the bed behind her, she shot him what she hoped was a sweet and reassuring smile, silently trying to thank the clergyman for all he’d done for her.

For sheltering her, giving her a place that truly felt like home, and affording her to meet a man that she’d fallen madly in love with, despite his looks and his freakishly tall height of around 6’2 or so.

As she wrenched open the door and broke into a run, having to lift the skirts of her chemise and overdress to avoid her brown leather boot heels tripping over them, she couldn’t help but imagine the previously suffocating air around her lifting.

Her shoulders felt almost lighter as she ran as if some unseen entity within the church had blessed her with a kind smile and a new surge of adrenaline. Horrible darkness, a heavy shadow that threatened to choke the very life from her lungs engulfed her as she bolted for the stone stairwell that would take her up to the north tower upper mezzanine.

As she stared into the vast abyss, this horrible chasm, only her shallow breaths and the memory of the kiss she’d given him were enough to keep the demons at bay that lurked around Madellaine, those dark demonic voices at the back of her head that whispered to her in taunting jeers, that she was too late, she wasn’t going to make it.

Shock jolted through her belly as she squinted into the darkness. But she tampered them down with a curt shake of her head as she bolted up the stone steps of the tower stairwell, taking them two at a time. The girl could only pray as she ran that she wasn’t too late.

* * *

 **ESMERALDA** thought death was supposed to be painful. But then again, she was certain she was well and far away from whatever heaven or decent afterlife awaited her if she and her people were even granted the privilege to ascend to Heaven’s Gates when they died, and their souls left the physical realm of this world for the next.

But this…this _had_ to be the tower. Her nostrils flared in agitation, smelling smoke and…bell polish, yes. She was sure of it. It felt to Esmeralda as though she were caught in a horrible, churning tide. The last thing she remembered was passing out from so much smoke inhalation, though she swore she’d heard Quasi’s soft, tenor-like tones, speaking to her in his soothing low voice. She was sure. All at once, Esmeralda was aware of a fiery, searing pain that flared in her chest, her lungs heaving to cough, burning for air, though when she tried to part her lips open to draw air in, she couldn’t. Her muscles attempted to writhe in agony but laid still.

The fight wasn’t over. Not for Esmeralda. It never could be, as time passed by, the memory of the night spent in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice lain awake after a night in Phoebus’s arms, and then staring down into the eyes of the Devil himself after she’d spat on his face, might fade from her consciousness, but the memories would never truly be gone. They might drift back into the murky darkness of her subconscious, but the darkness would always remain, waiting to remind Esmeralda of horrors she had barely survived.

There was a voice, faint, but muffled, as if underwater. Her eyelids flickered open and shut, barely perceptively. She swore she heard Quasi’s soft, reserved voice speaking to someone, someone that wasn’t _her_. She was beginning to wake up now, but her already weak body felt heavy, as though someone had set two bags of flour on her shoulders, preventing her from sitting upright in the room.

Esmeralda didn’t know how long she lay there in a semi-conscious haze, teetering on the brink between the darkness of her hellish nightmares and the dim, strangely dark light of the real world above. It was like being submerged in the murky waters beneath the River Seine, and she’d experienced that firsthand for herself, having helped rescue Phoebus from his dark, watery grave after being shot.

Just beneath the surface of her reality, she could see and hear her friend, the bell ringer, but the man’s distraught, quiet voice sounded distant and distorted, an indistinct ripple that was unable to penetrate the haze that stretched over Esmeralda’s perception of the world. A sickening thought swam towards Esmeralda, fully formed.

A dangerous thought, but a poignant one, nonetheless: Y _ou’ve dreamt it. You’re still tied to your pyre pole about to burn to death._ _You passed out from the smoke, but the moment you open your eyes, you’ll die._

The familiar, snakelike voice that sounded entirely too much like Judge Frollo’s listless baritone for Esmeralda’s comfort, somewhere from the darkest recesses of the girl’s mind.

Momentarily, it lit up her spell of mental darkness. Esmeralda was a young woman with a vivid imagination.

She’d dreamt of things before. Marrying a knight, whose virtue and honor and love were pure and true, and she supposed she would have had that were it not for the Judge’s lusts. Though, it felt as though it had been hours since Esmeralda had lost track between reality and the fantasies of her own mind, where she imagined a better world, a kinder world in which she and Phoebus could live a life of wedded bliss in peace and happiness. _Someday_. Maybe, when the world was wiser and older.

But…could hearing Quasi’s smooth, rich, melodious voice talking to someone in clipped and angered tones be just another phantasm of her own mind? Alarmed, Esmeralda quickly swam to the surface of her mind, and whatever was waiting for her on the other side, knowing sooner or later, she would have to wake.

Knowing that sooner or later, she would have to face reality. The first thing that spun into focus as her vision slowly but surely cleared was Quasi’s slightly misshapen face, but still handsome in her eyes. He was looming just in front of her and he was…he was _crying_. But _why_? Esmeralda tried to wriggle her eyebrows into a frown.

She’d seen him just last night, in the…in the Court of Miracles. But why was he crying so hard? No, not quite that. Almost _sobbing_. Quasi didn’t say anything back. Her friend was nothing more than a product of her feverish mind, this phantasm of her friend, the gentle giant, who, even kneeling on his knees, still towered over her.

His face, slightly misshapen though it was, was still handsome, and not even the slight contusion over the man’s left browbone was ever going to change that in Esmeralda’s mind. She wanted to smile, though her lips were reluctant to do it.

If they lived through this, Madellaine was a lucky woman indeed to have him as a suitor. His features were strong, almost Roman, molded from the finest granite, his cheekbones high and symmetrical, angular, though his face was much too pale, far too pale for Esmeralda to consider him healthy. The ashen, clammy complexion of his skin caused his vibrant thick tuft of wild ginger hair that would need a trim soon to stand out in a striking contrast that was truly alarming and frightening.

She didn’t know if Quasimodo was any more real this time. For all she knew, his face would be the last thing she saw before she perished in the flames that Claude Frollo had sentenced her to die by. Esmeralda was crying now, she could feel it for herself. In the first moment after slowly waking, Esmeralda felt as afraid as she had ever been while out dancing alone in the streets after nightfall. It was not a life that she would have chosen for herself, had there been any other way, but this was to be Esmeralda’s plight in life.

Suddenly, the raven-haired dancer became convinced that this was nothing more than one last hallucination of her overactive imagination before she was to perish in the flames of her own pyre.

Maybe it was her mind’s way of saying goodbye to her beloved friend. She thought it strange that Quasi would be the one by her side when she died. She’d hoped to see Phoebus, that soldier boy one last time, though at least someone was at her bedside now, and what better person to ask for during her final parting moments than perhaps the first man, however odd he was on the outside, who had been her first real friend when Clopin’s court came into Paris earlier?

Esmeralda let out a small, painful sob as the thought pricked her harder than any point of a sharp dagger could ever pierce her heart.

“ _Quasi_ …” she whispered hoarsely and heard a small rasp that resembled her voice escape from the back of her throat.

 _Is it you? I_ _f it’s not, then I’ll just…give up and die right here and now_. If her own mind could play such a cruel and horrible trick on her, she couldn’t go on, she might as well just give up and die right here.

Quasi stared, towering over her, his tall, towering silhouette engulfing the stone-hard cot she was laying on top of in darkness. He was staring at her as though she had sprouted antlers. He smiled and nodded, his blue eyes gleaming with a wave of fresh tears.

Though another voice rent the air, a familiar icy baritone that immediately chilled Esmeralda’s blood in her veins to ice, freezing it. “ _She lives_.” The voice was dangerously low and quiet, seething with hatred and disbelief. Esmeralda squeezed her eyes shut as a stab of fear pricked at her heartstrings. She recognized the voice’s owner.

Esmeralda almost couldn’t bring herself to summon the strength to open her eyelids and search for the location of the source of his voice, though she knew she would regret it forever if she didn’t look.

Against her better judgment, Esmeralda blearily opened her eyes and tried to focus her hazy and clouded vision more than a few feet in front of herself, as she felt herself being lifted into a pair of strong arms that at first, she almost mistook for Phoebus’s warm embrace.

Though she felt the tempered strength of the bell ringer’s gloved hands grip firmly onto her waist and the small of her back, supporting her weight, she knew that it was Quasi who’d picked her up and was holding her so tenderly, as if she were made of fine china.

“ **NO**!” she heard Quasi’s now-hardened voice that almost didn’t sound like her friend at all. Gone were the man’s timid, shy tones. The yell that erupted from deep within the confines of the man’s broad and toned chest sent a chill down her spine as it was a scream that bypassed her pounding eardrums and went straight for her heart. Replaced was the voice of someone harder, someone angrier. She let out a muffled yelp of surprise as Notre Dame’s bell ringer jostled her in his tight grip accidentally as the man broke into a run.

A surge of adrenaline caused Esmeralda’s eyes to fling wide open as a blast of cold and warm air as one met her face and blew her raven black hair off her shoulders, though her vision was still rather cloudy. There were so many things that Esmeralda wanted to say to Quasi, wanted to ask him just what was happening to them both, but she was exhausted, and her dry, parched throat screamed for relief, protesting at the idea of talking too much to her dear friend.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against Quasi’s chest, feeling thankful that she was alive and in the company of a dear friend and a kind man, with a good, good heart, who deserved Madellaine’s love and affection after all this was over, _if_ they lived.

Esmeralda had no idea of the danger the two of them were in as she could feel her eyes become heavy, and she returned once again to the dark world of sleep, blissfully unaware they were being chased.


	41. And He Shall Smite the Wicked

**Chapter Forty-One: And He Shall Smite the Wicked**

**“DAMN.”** It was the first word out of his former lieutenant’s mouth as the pair of soldiers sprinted across the stone bridge, following the sound of what was unmistakably the judge yelling at his young ward.

Phoebus shot him a withering look as he continued to jam the wedge of a spare dagger he wore in a sheath on the other side of his waist opposite the scabbard he carried his sword in. “ _Language_ , Frederic, you’re in a church,” he joked weakly, hoping to lighten the mood, though the two men were short on time, and neither man’s moods improved when the sound of a pair of delicate footsteps reached their eardrums, causing their ears to perk up at the noise.

With a heavy heart, Phoebus didn’t even have to shift at the waist to turn around to know it was Madellaine.

Frederic spluttered and stammered something incoherent, his face reddening with anger as he looked at her. “What did I _tell_ you, belle, you’re to wait downstairs? Have you gone _deaf_? You need to go back downstairs!” he snapped, hardening his voice so that no warmth was left. He didn’t want to get cross with the young blonde, though he feared he might have no choice if she didn’t comply with their request to go back down where it was safe for the girl.

“I—I _can’t_ ,” she whimpered in a pitiful little whimper, though Frederic was not given a chance to respond, it looked like the dark-haired soldier would very much like to, but at that moment, the loud click of the lock finally breaking off its hinges shattered the silence.

Phoebus barely stifled his triumphant grin as he lifted his leg and kicked the door in with his boot, neither soldier surprised when the old thing fell off its rusted hinges, the door stricken with the disease of time and termites. Madellaine flinched at the noise, saying nothing.

She made to follow Captain Phoebus up the rest of the stairwell that would take them to the upper levels of the cathedral, though was halted in her movements by Captain Frederic. She bristled, turning on the heel of her boots as she stepped off onto the mezzanine, glowering at the man.

“You _can’t_ ask me to go back downstairs, Frederic,” she began in what she hoped was a soft voice. “I—I _won’t_. I—I couldn’t stand staying down there not knowing if…”

But her voice broke and cracked as her voice trailed off, rendering the young blonde unable to really say it. She was afraid if she said it, her nightmare would turn into a horrible reality, and losing Quasi and Esmeralda, she didn’t like to think. Frederic bit the wall of his cheek and waged war with himself, kicking out at the stone wall with his boot and letting out a low, wolfish growl as he seized onto a tuft of his dark hair and tugged on it before letting out a cry of anger intermingled with pity and frustration for the girl.

“ _Fine_ ,” he growled, latching onto her forearm, and dragging her up the stairwell. “But you do as I say when I tell you to. If Captain Phoebus and I tell you to _run_ , then you run. If I tell you _not_ to look back, then _don’t_ look back.”

Madellaine quickly nodded her agreement, still panting from the exertion of having run all the way up the stairs, gasping and clutching at a stitch in her right side.

She allowed the dark-haired captain to lead her up the rest of the tower stone stairwell, following close behind in Captain Phoebus’s footsteps, praying they weren’t too late to save the man that she loved and her dearest friend.

* * *

The heathen witch _lived_ , and what was worse, never before had his accursed wretch’s name sounded like such a _curse_.

Claude wrapped his thin fingers around the hilt of his sword attached to his hip. “She _lives_ ,” he growled, his voice dripping with anger at the demonic temptress’s stubbornness and her staunch refusal to just bloody _die_. He was not about to offer Esmeralda a second chance, as merciful of a man as he considered himself to be. The witch had made her choice. She was to die tonight.

La Esmeralda had escaped Death’s clutches multiple times throughout the course of the last several weeks, but she was not going to walk the streets of this great city and continue to live and turn others to her life of horrible sin. She was not going to be given the opportunity to charm other menfolk, persuade others, turn them away from God and His path. He had to fulfill his duty, he’d sworn an oath when he became the Minister of Justice.

He had to kill Esmeralda and his wretch, too, and both of them would be judged appropriately when they reached Hell’s gates, where both of them _belonged_.

“ **NO**!” Quasimodo shouted, bellowing at his master at the top of his lungs as a surge of raw, unbridled rage and adrenaline vented him towards the exit of the little room as he gathered the gypsy witch in his arms and turned right.

The sheer stupidity and naivety Jehan’s boy held almost made Claude want to throw back his head and laugh. The boy had no choice in this matter. He was to die.

His soul had already been damned at birth, and neither he nor the witch was going to escape God’s wrath.

These conflicting thoughts continued to swirl within his tormented mind as he exited the room in a calm, methodical manner, despite the anger coursing in his veins. They couldn’t have gotten far. Quasimodo was quite agile and strong, yes, but now he had to take care of the girl.

He would have to mind this so-called ‘extra precaution’ in his arms, and Frollo didn’t think the boy would be so reckless and careless. Not when holding her. While the boy was incredibly naïve and sheltered, he wasn’t at all stupid, as loathe as Claude was to admit it to himself. The man was intelligent, grown in body and mind. The monster was certain to take care of his witch. Frollo scoffed inwardly at the adjective, rolling his eyes.

He didn’t quite know how it had happened, but the fact that it had only increased his disappointment in the boy. He had thought he had taught him better than this. The heathen gypsy witch had succeeded in casting a spell over the accursed red-haired demonic man, bewitching the monster’s mind, making him believe she was more than what La Esmeralda really was: a witch clad in colorful garments. Nothing more and nothing less.

Esmeralda had somehow managed to convince Quasimodo that she was merely an innocent young woman wrongfully accused of her crimes based on her ethnicity. But she had taken it a step too far when she had managed to ensnare him in her trap, alongside Quasimodo, his ex-captain, and God only knew how many other men. The Judge knew he had to put an end to such corruption.

Turning the corner, he kept his sword held out in front of him, a truly magnificent thing of beauty made of the finest Roman steel. When he spotted no sign of the hunchback or the zingara, he furrowed his brows in a frown. There was no bloody way they could have escaped.

_They didn’t_ , he realized, his eyes widening in realization as visions of the boy climbing and scaling the walls of the cathedral in his younger years, much to Claude’s chagrin, and even earlier, seeing him soar from the topmost parapet of the cathedral-like some sort of god.

_What if the boy’s hiding right under my nose_? He thought, the edges of his lips curling upward in a twisted sneer as he crept closer to the balustrade of the balcony, careful to ensure his footsteps were almost light and airy so as to not give away his position in case they were nearby.

He poked his head over the edge, unable to repress his malicious grin as he saw his assumption had been right. Jehan’s bastard son was dangling from one of the gargoyles with one hand, the other wound tightly around La Esmeralda’s waist, protecting her the best that he could. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck to ensure she wouldn’t fall, though the look of unbridled fear and abject horror in both of their eyes was almost worth it.

Claude momentarily froze upon seeing how the almost tender way they held onto one another caused a surge of jealousy and anger to flare through his entire body. How in the seven hells could she be willing to allow such a grotesque man with no hope of a future for himself touch her, and yet shirk away from the likes of _him_ in ire?

He remembered seeing the look of horror on the witch’s face when she realized the boy’s face up on the stage during the Feast of Fools was no mask, but his reality. She was disgusted by him on some level, he was sure of it, but somehow, Quasimodo’s naivety had charmed her.

Claude sneered. The two wicked souls deserved one another, though this thought did nothing to diminish the hot, fiery anger soaring through his veins, hot as a wildfire. The jealousy brewing in his heart like a gypsy potion only surged, and his fury was rapidly mounting at the girl.

However, the raw fear in both of their gazes at being discovered in an already precarious position made him feel gleeful. And as for La Esmeralda’s, well, hers _aroused_ him. Though he could not linger in the immense pleasure her fearful piercing eyes of green brought him. He had the Lord’s work to be done. He could not let them stay alive.

“Whatever on _earth_ is the matter, my dear boy? _Leaving_ so _soon_? Why, I only just _got_ here, Quasimodo,” he taunted in his smooth, languid voice as he brought his sword down, gritting his teeth, narrowly missing the witch, and would have succeeded in nicking her cheek as she cried out in shock and pleasure had she not ducked her head at the precise moment before he drew his sword back.

He continued to swing. Over and over until his arm ached, and one blow after another only succeeded in bringing more rage and anger to each blow he dealt the boy, that the boy used his speed and nimble agility to dodge, swinging from the gargoyle statues like some kind of…freak monkey or something. The young man was entirely too agile, strong, and determined to keep her safe.

Utilizing the raw fury and untapped energy that gathered in his veins, despite the growing feeling of heaviness in his limbs as he repeatedly swung his sword over and over again, he struck out again, this time, the point of his blade digging into the stone of one of the gargoyles on the ledge.

Gritting his teeth, he managed to pry his weapon free with a heave, and he turned his attention towards the gypsy witch who was now clambering onto and over the balcony, scrambling as far away from the judge as possible.

Quasimodo was now no longer shielding the zingara from him, having managed to push her away right in the nick of time. He would deal with her in a moment, but for now, there was still the matter of his brother’s boy to deal with. The fact the wretch still drew in breath vexed Frollo. Besides, it would be easier enough to deal with the harlot witch when Quasimodo was no longer around to protect her from harm, and his priority shifted to the boy.

The edges of his lips curled upward into a twisted smirk as he heard the younger man grunt with the effort to stand up, looking towards Frollo with a murderous look in his bright blue eyes, intermingled with that of betrayal and an immense hurt for someone who he had once… _loved_.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Judge Frollo growled in a clipped tone, his words poisonous venom. “I should have known that you would risk your life for that filthy gypsy _witch_. Just as your own mother _died_ to save you,” he revealed finally, a painful lurch in his chest as visions of the wretch’s mother, of Jehan’s lover, Florika, the cause of why he had been expelled from Notre Dame in the first place, flitted through the front of Claude’s mind.

The disgusted, appalled look the church’s bell ringer was shooting him almost made the Judge laugh at his ignorance. He’d never spoken of Jehan or Florika to the boy beyond the occasional mention, but with how smart as the man was, he’d figured he’d put two-and-two together.

“And now, I’m going to do what I should have done twenty years ago! Jehan was a _fool_ ask me to take you!” he screamed, his face reddening and spittle flying from his thin lips, throwing the cape that he wore to the side, catching the boy’s head as he yanked Jehan’s son forward and off the grotesque gargoyle statue he stood on. _Foolish_.

He should have gotten off when he’d had the chance. However, the Judge quickly realized that he’d underestimated his brother’s bastard’s weight which allowed him to topple over the balcony’s balustrade, the only thing saving him from tumbling to the stones below, was clutching onto a fistful of his black velvet cape.

Claude managed to grasp onto fistfuls of the cloth, looking up to his son with widened eyes filled with a sudden sickening sense of terror, who was clutching onto the fabric in one hand, the other grasping onto the balcony.

He’d managed to catch a glimpse of the heathen gypsy witch that had somehow wormed her way under both their skins, her arms entwined around his bicep, struggling, and gritting her teeth to try to pull him up to prevent him from falling off the ledge. Though what alarmed him was how rapidly the girl’s strength seemed to be fading from her. Her grip on the man’s arm was loosening, and fast.

Thinking quickly, Frollo managed to swing himself from the dangling velvet cloth over toward a nearby statue, another demonic-looking gargoyle, climbing on top of it with the intent to heave himself over the balustrade of the stone balcony again, preventing his death.

He shakily rose to his feet, astonished and more than a little shocked at the physical feat he’d managed to accomplish. He rose his sword high above his head, locking eyes with the Bohemian gypsy witch who, Frollo was pleased to see, still held such a look of horror in those bewitching pale green irises that would torment him no more. Claude felt…eerily giddy at his pending success.

At last, he would rid himself of his cross, his brother’s son that had been a burden to him all these years, and take care of this heathen witch in one fell swoop.

These two would die tonight by his hand, and he would have carried out the Good Lord’s work, oh, _yes_ …

It was this thought that prompted the final surge of energy that coursed through his veins as he rose to his full height, the words pouring from his lips without him becoming fully cognizant of what it was that he was saying.

_"And He shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the fiery pit_!” But right before he was able to carry out the Lord’s work, the gargoyle began to crumble beneath his feet, causing him to lose his balance and desperately clutch onto the disintegrating structure as he hung over the flames. Fear, a sickening sense of dread enveloped his heart, squeezing and paralyzing it as he watched with a sickening stomach the gargoyle transform from an inanimate object into that of a demon, laughing at him, glaring at him dead in the eyes and he knew, he knew that he was condemned to Hell. His life’s work was destroyed.

He screamed as he plummeted to his grisly death, though his scream wasn’t necessarily that of a man who was afraid of death, but rather, of a man who knew his eternal soul was damned. He’d failed his brother, Jehan.

He was sorry for the wrong that he’d caused, wishing to repent and become righteous again, but he was far too gone and past the point of no return, his soul was. He’d killed for Satan, had ruined peoples’ lives, instilled fear into the hearts of man, and had managed to convince himself that what he was doing was all necessary. It was these final tormenting thoughts that caused him to scream while he plummeted to his grisly demise.

Tears stung and blurred at the edges of his vision, with Claude having already accepted his fate, whatever would be waiting for him in the gates of Hell, knowing his judgment. He _knew_ what he’d done, his sins, his troubles. How could he not?

The moment his head connected with the cobblestone street below and the back of his skull cracked wide open, the only thing he felt was a blinding pain and something sticky and warm gathering at the back of his head. He knew it to be that of his own blood, his life force.

But it paled in comparison to what Frollo felt for his eternal soul that was now forever damned, because of the choices he’d made in his life. The agony of his sins piled against him, his sins his torture, his agony, his own hellfire.

Claude’s last coherent thought was that not even the seven layers, all of them, of Hell itself, could come up with a method of torture that was worse than that of his pain. Not even the Devil himself. Claude’s lids fluttered closed as one last ragged, choking, gurgling gasp left him as his limbs went numb, and then the Judge felt nothing, nothing, nothing at all, as his consciousness slipped away.

And all went black as Judge Claude Frollo drew in his last breath, and then his chest fell one last time as he died there at the front steps of Notre Dame, in the exact same spot where he had killed Quasimodo’s mother all those years ago.


	42. Just a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh....slight steamy scene warning ahead? feel free to skip if you want, but I like to think I wrote it in a tasteful manner that hopefully isn't too inappropriate. To be fair, both of them almost just DIED, so I feel like their emotions would be running high and the surge of adrenaline in their veins would be something else.

**Chapter Forty-Two: Just a Man**

**QUASI** blinked, hardly daring to believe what had just happened. As Frollo had started to plummet to his death, his instincts propelled him forward on the balls of his heels, trying to seize onto the fabric of the man’s woolen cape before he toppled completely over the side.

He was a fraction of a second too late. Just as the tips of his gloved fingers brushed against the material of the Judge’s cloak, gravity came into effect and the Judge plummeted to the stones below, causing bile to immediately rise in his throat.

He watched in horror, coupled with a sickening sense of dread that felt like it was going to make him sick to his stomach as the man who he’d once thought of as a father figure plummeted to the stones and his grisly death below. At first, his mind couldn’t fathom what happened.

The full impact of the Judge’s death hit the poor man so hard, Quasi faltered backward and fell onto the safety of the balustrade railing, where he slid to his knees in utter despair, anguish, and a horrible sense of relief.

The Judge, his master, his…his father…was _dead_. Off to his right, out of the corner of his eye, Quasi swore he saw a flash of yellow move out of the corner of his eye, but he was too dazed and at a loss for how to react to what it was. In fact, he was honestly surprised he could think at all.

It felt as though someone had doused him over the head with a bucket of ice-cold water.

The world around him spun rapidly, his vision spotted with black dots that crept towards his sight, threatening to blind Quasimodo. Quasi hung his head, allowing that one stubborn lock of his fiery, coarse ginger hair to shield his sight from the outside world. He did not want to see any more of it.

His shoulders began to heave in the release of his life’s worth of anguish and pain, screaming his already aching throat that felt like it was on fire and hot, rapid tears began to mar his eyes, and before he knew it, he was crying for him. Up ahead, between the convulsive catching of his breaths that were indistinguishable between his sobs and growing hysterical laughter that the tyrannical judge was dead, Quasi looked towards the left over his shoulder.

And hardly dared to believe it. _She_ was there, the blonde who now held his heart, and she did not seem to be a phantasm of his own mind, which meant she was alive.

Madellaine was there, alongside Captain Phoebus and Captain Frederic, their faces spoiled by the intense psychological disturbance of seeing that the devil Quasi had just made of himself only a second ago by failing to reach out to his father in time to save his life, and Quasi had just…let Claude Frollo fall. Drilling anger burned through his mind, laced to the brim with a horrible self-bitterness as he kept his gaze fixated on Madellaine.

He wanted nothing more than to rush to her, to take the young blonde in his arms and never let her go, but his limbs weren’t working at all. Quasi shut his eyes to breathe the searing air and exhaled it as a stream of cold winter vapor from his lips, a shuddering breath. Quasi had slain the one man who had raised him, had ever cared for him.

Master had given him almost everything, and Quasi had taken from his father the one thing he’d never asked for. His life. He didn’t want it! He didn’t want Master’s life!

God, take it back, take it back, he didn’t want it. He should have been the one to fall, it should have been him.

Why couldn’t it have been him? “Quasi?” came Madellaine’s soft voice, sounding concerned. She bent a knee in front of him and cupped his chin in her hand.

He saw the concern and fear that grazed her glistening pale blue irises as he tried to retreat from her.

He didn’t want Madellaine to see him like this as he was currently, an utter mess. He noticed the small lump that bobbed down her throat as she swallowed down hard.

“I—I _killed_ him,” his voice trembled, and he cringed, hating hearing the faltering crack and dip in his voice as he blinked back tears.

The warm water brimming in his eyes was almost too much to bear. His chest was undulating with a horrible, tight pressure that vented off as a sob that he was trying to swallow down but couldn’t, and before he knew it, slick tears slipped from his lids before he could stop it. He cursed under his breath at the last heave and sniffle, though before he knew what was happening, something warm and hard was pressed against his chest.

Quasi felt his entire body instinctively stiffen as he was surprisingly pulled to his feet by Madellaine, though it was something admittedly of a difficult feat for the girl, somehow, in a surprising show of strength, she managed.

He blearily lifted his tear-filled gaze and tried to focus his blurred vision more than a few feet in front of himself, watching as Captain Phoebus didn’t embrace to run to Esmeralda and embrace his friend, while Captain Frederic, that dark-haired bastard of a handsome soldier, everything that Quasimodo wasn't, his jaws tensed at seeing the blonde in the bell ringer’s arms, his pools of green irises flitted to Quasi’s disheveled state and back towards the ground below where, if Frederic squinted he could see a massive crowd gathering near Judge Frollo’s lifeless body.

“We should go, captain. His body will be paraded through the streets and mauled if we aren’t quick about it.”

Phoebus was the first to speak, though his voice shook slightly as he uttered the words, to which Frederic quickly nodded his agreement, though not before casting one last slightly distrusting look towards his Madellaine belle in the arms of the Judge’s ward and let out a sigh.

“You will be safe, Madellaine belle?” he murmured in his low voice, which immediately sent Quasi’s blood churning in his veins, coupled with a sense of extreme and fierce protectiveness for Madellaine in his arms. He didn’t know to what extent the soldier had conversed with his love, his heaven’s light, but he was not about to let another man take away perhaps the one good thing he had left.

“I…” he stammered, tearing his gaze away from Captain Frederic de Marten and instead focusing on Madellaine, shaking his head, and grinding his teeth together in self-hatred at what he had just failed to do.

His voice cracked and broke as tears streamed down his cheeks. If Madellaine was at all disturbed by the aftermath of what had transpired between him and his father, the girl hid it well. Her face was a mask of calm and perfect apathy as she spoke towards Frederic, though her gaze remained fixed on Quasi.

“I will be just fine, Frederic. Quasi is here with me. Frollo is dead. He and his men can’t hurt anyone anymore,” she answered in a tone bordering on a finality that was enough for the Captain to get the hint.

He stiffened, though Frederic inclined his head in a show of somewhat mutual respect as the bell ringer’s head whiplashed sharply upwards and shot him a venomous look, though let out a relieved breath as Captain Frederic turned on his heels to go, as did Phoebus and Esmeralda, though Esmeralda was looking like she very much wanted to say, opening her mouth to speak, but Madellaine did not give the slightly older woman a chance to say her piece.

“ _Later_ ,” she said in a tone that was slightly clipped and hard. “Give him a _moment_ , for pity’s sake, Esmeralda. He—he just lost his father, Esmeralda. He needs time.”

“A father who he never seemed to _care_ for,” Phoebus retorted hotly, coming to stand alongside Esmeralda and winding his arm around the Romani’s waist, his tone sounded guarded and defensive at how Madellaine’s tone was rapidly shifting from its sweet and shy usual tone to one of someone harder and growing much more impatient.

She huffed in frustration, pinching at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “I…that isn’t the point, Phoebus. _Please_ ,” she begged, lowering her voice and trying a softer approach. “One hour. May we have that?” Madellaine was not quite yelling at her friends, but nor was she willing to back down on this matter, either.

Quasi was hurting, and Madellaine couldn’t remember the last time she felt so powerless to help him.

The man she now knew herself to be hopelessly and desperately in love with was suffering hard, and she hadn’t the faintest idea on how to help him, though she suspected it wasn’t at all good for his psyche to be around so many people all at once, and that he needed the time to cope.

He mourned for the Judge, in his own way, and he needed to allow himself the time to process and really _feel_ it. Esmeralda met Madellaine’s gaze and seeing the young blonde’s expression of a fierce determination and resolve, that she wasn’t going to back down on this, heaved a heavy sigh and relented, her shoulders slumping forward in defeat.

“Very well,” she sighed, though Esmeralda did not sound at all happy about it. “Phoebus and I will check on you both in an hour, then, will that be enough time, Lena?”

Madellaine nodded silently, silently thanking God as her friend mumbled her agreement and turned on her bare heels to follow after Phoebus and Frederic to see what could be done about moving the Judge’s body from the front steps of Notre Dame before a riot of unrest broke out.

She didn’t bother to speak again until it was just the two of them alone on the balcony, shivering slightly as a thick, swirling mist penetrated the air and swooped in around the bell tower’s balcony and entered into his loft.

It was eerie and kind of frightening, if Madellaine was being honest with herself, as though she half-expected Claude Frollo’s ghost to emerge from this swirling fog, though the apparition her overactive mind imagined never came. One glance at Quasi out of the corner of her eyes was more than enough.

She could tell he thought the same, too.

Madellaine wracked her brain for something to say as the two of them used the cold stone wall of the balcony’s wall to support their backs as they sat back down again, Quasi’s equilibrium still feeling off, as was proven when he stood upright again and almost swayed precariously on the spot, his face rapidly paling and turning an interesting shade of green. Madellaine urged him to sit again, and he did so.

“Y—your wounds, love, do they hurt?” Madellaine asked, a concerned look on her face as she realized Quasi’s knuckles were scraped and bleeding, the skin rubbed raw. "Your...your hands. They're _bleeding_ ," she whispered in a horrified voice.

“Th—they’re _fine_ , Madellaine,” Quasi murmured his words softly, his tenor-like voice shaking something awful as he looked away from the young blonde’s penetrating gaze that seared him hotter than any lake of hellfire could.

Instead, he looked out at the swooping, skirting mist that was now shrouding the entire City of Lovers in its blinding whiteness. “I’m going to be fine,” he said hoarsely.

“No, you’re _not_ ,” Madellaine whispered in a small, faint voice. Quasimodo released all his stress in one single breath as he ducked his head and looked away from her, allowing a lock of his fiery red bangs to fall in front of his eyes, acting like a curtain of sorts, shielding whatever expression Madellaine currently wore from his sight.

Quasi drew in a sharp breath that pained his bruised and battered ribcage as he sat on the balcony terrace next to Madellaine, stricken with the sudden realization that his father figure was…gone. Dead. Murdered in a violent way.

 _By me,_ he thought, and he flinched, swearing he tasted bitter acidic stomach bile that lingered on his tongue, but he swallowed it. How could all of that have been a lie? Had Master Frollo never really loved him, as he’d thought? Tears of betrayal and immense, crushing guilt stung and marred the edges of his blurred vision as he struggled to wrap his mind around the concept of what it was that he had done. He’d failed to catch Master Frollo’s fall.

Quasi felt as though his entire, miserable, wretched life up to this point in time had been brainwashed by evil.

First by Father, and even now, he admitted he loved the man. Frollo was horrible to him, yes, of that there was no denying, but Master had a tender side as well, where it had counted. Seeming to genuinely care for him up until the point that La Esmeralda had entered into their lives.

Quasimodo had been unwaveringly loyal to the Judge, had respected Master Frollo, had obeyed his commands almost without fail. But now he knew the truth.

There had never been love. No purpose in his master’s life other than to be a pawn to his wretched ways used nothing more than a tool to instill fear in the hearts of man, hurt, death, and destruction to those who defied him.

“Quasi…?” Madellaine’s cautious half-smile as she met his gaze faded as her bright blue eyes turned dangerously somber for the man she loved as she blinked back her tears. Her voice was passionate, just as it had been the same night that she had kissed him here in the tower, but despite this, the bell ringer became so enveloped in a torpid whirl of dark memories that he barely felt the cool touch of Madellaine’s hand resting on his shoulder.

“ _Quasi_. Please look at me. It’s _done_. F—Frollo’s gone. You—you were protecting Esmeralda. You did what you thought was right, and he can’t hurt you anymore. You protected your friends. All of them. And…you saved me.”

Her words, soft, true, but harsh, finally broke the man out of his stunned stupor, his daze, and gazed down his nose at the woman who held his heart with a look that was conflicted and heartbroken. Madellaine’s face fell and became crestfallen as she quickly realized just how much of an impact Judge Claude Frollo had on the poor man, so much influence, even now in death, and it was killing her.

Quasi shook his head, his red bangs still hanging like a curtain in front of his face, though Madellaine itched to reach up with her hand and wipe them out of his eyes, forcing the man to look at him. She made a mental note late to give him a haircut, and maybe he’d let her cut his bangs. She did not want him to be able to use them as a shield. Not anymore, not as long as she was by his side.

“Why didn’t you tell me the _truth_?” he asked, his soft voice breaking and cracking as he finally lifted his chin, turning his head slightly to look Madellaine in the eyes.

Madellaine froze, her face draining of all colors, having anticipated he would ask this question of her at some point during the still very much early days of what she hoped would become a new courtship, now that Frollo was dead, but she had not anticipated that it’d be now.

Her lungs suddenly felt starved for breath as a vision of her sister danced in front of her eyes, Maria watching the two of them despairingly with disapproval in her eyes.

How Maria would surely never approve of Quasi as a potential suitor, and oh, God, hopefully, one day, as a _husband_ to her.

Even in her temporary hallucination as Maria’s slender figure crept forth from the fog, her older sister’s face so identical to her own was so sullen and careworn that it sent a chill down Madellaine’s spine, then. Madellaine mouthed Maria’s name, but she could not hear her voice. She itched to reach out and touch her, to feel her, to ensure that her sister was still real, still alive. She reached out a trembling hand, watching as her arm became engulfed in the thick white winter mist, and she barely managed to stifle a low, pitiful whine as the apparition of her older sister, her only family left, vanished.

When she tried to whisper Maria’s name, it felt like there was a gag on her mouth, and her tongue felt thick. “I..” Madellaine stammered, her voice trailing off. “I…couldn’t…” was all she could manage to gasp out in a faint whisper, feeling suddenly like she shouldn’t be here.

She struggled to rise to her feet with the intent to leave her dear friend alone to his thoughts, to process his feelings however he needed, but before she could rise to her feet, Quasi’s strong gloved hand shot out and latched itself around her forearm and squeezed almost hard enough to break it, seemingly not aware of his strength.

“No,” he growled, a dark edge to his normally soft and melodious tenor-like voice. “Don’t go. Not again. Not a second time.” His already natural pale complexion drained with whatever little color was left as Madellaine slowly lifted her head to look into Quasi’s pale blue irises, burning bright with a wave of fierce, sudden anger and a horrible, antagonized hurt. If only she knew the effect she had…

“…I didn’t want to hurt you. I—I thought that if I told you the truth of my…of Phoebus, that you…that you wouldn’t want to see me ever again,” Madellaine managed to croak out, turning away from Quasimodo, shamefaced.

 _But you did hurt me_ , is what he wanted to say, and found that he couldn’t manage to make himself form the words. His heart pounded in his chest as they sat in silence.

Hard rhythmic drumming he could hear in his ears. Every time Madellaine moved, even just to turn her head or fidget nervously with her fingers in that adorable way of hers, he was sure that he was trying to leave his side again.

Though he felt great relief at having Madellaine with him again, Quasimodo couldn’t help but feel on edge. Every nerve in his body was on high, red alert. Every rustle of the wind, every warble of the pigeons had his body standing on end, and the hairs on the back of his neck up.

Even now, learning that she may still be engaged to Captain Phoebus, despite the Captain’s obvious romantic interest in Esmeralda, and Madellaine’s interest in… in him, which even now, he was struggling to wrap his mind around, he couldn’t quite fathom the sprouting of the betrayal, devastation, and sadness welling deep inside him. The last thing he remembered feeling as Madellaine had been dragged away from him in a pair of manacles down in the sewers of the Court of Miracles was the feeling of an uncontrollable hurt and a horrible feeling of utter ire.

Rage. Even hearing her apology, the more she pleaded with him, the angrier he felt himself become.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted her to kiss him again, but the knowledge that she may or may not still be engaged to Phoebus felt as though a part of him had been ruined. It wasn’t something that he was sure he could forgive. Unless…unless Madellaine found a way to _show_ him.

And her eyes, oh, God her eyes. Her blue eyes were so sad. Madellaine was looking so remorseful and so scared.

It shook him. Quasi wanted to make it stop, but he wasn’t sure that he could trust her. He was torn between the two desires to hold her in his arms and never let her go and wring her neck for lying by omission to him about _him_.

 _Phoebus_. His blood still curdled in his veins. It was a horrible, awful, damned conflict. One he never felt before. It yanked at him. Tore him apart until Quasi was sure there was nothing of him left. It only lasted a moment. His decision became clear as he looked into the terrified young blonde woman’s eyes brimming with tears as he felt the desire to hurt slowly dissipate from within, but those few horrible seconds felt like they lasted an age.

He needed Madellaine with him by his side. He needed her. _Wanted_ her. It was the strongest desire he’d ever felt. Stronger than anything he’d felt in his life.

Words were impossible to describe it. Angry with Madellaine still though he was, he could not dismiss her. Not when he felt like this. He parted his lips open slightly to speak, though whatever he was about to say died upon his tongue as he watched Madellaine duck her head.

Hot tears stung at her lids as a light pink blush of shame and embarrassment speckled along her cheeks, not wanting Quasimodo to see her so distraught over all this.

“Y—your father, h—he was a man too far gone, Quasi,” Madellaine whispered hatefully, wanting to steer the conversation back towards Frollo and how he must be feeling, wanting to give Quasi the opportunity if he wanted it to get his feelings out into the open, to not keep them hidden and bottled up to the point where he exploded.

She could tell what had happened not even ten minutes ago was plaguing him and would haunt him. _Perhaps even for the rest of his life_ , she thought sadly, blinking back a fresh wave of tears as his bitter voice laced to the brim with self-loathing and hatred cut her.

“Please, Madellaine, just… _don’t_ ,” Quasi struggled, his voice warbling, and it sounded like he was blinking back tears of his own, on the near verge of mass hysteria. “I—I know what he did, Madellaine, all right?” he snapped back, rather roughly. Quasi flinched as he saw the girl shirk away in both hurt and surprise at the roughness of his voice. “But…M—Master Frollo…Father, he was all I had.”

He turned his gaze away from hers and finally cracked and broke down, shifting at the waist and turning his back towards Madellaine as to finally try to be alone, but he could not have been more wrong in that regard.

Quasimodo was not alone, and neither was she. Not anymore. Madellaine pursed her lips into a thin line and bit the wall of her mouth in contemplation as she tapped his shoulder. The moment Quasi lifted his gaze and turned with his tear-stricken face to meet her gaze, she cupped his chin in her hands and held it, tilting his head slightly upward, thereby forcing Quasi to meet her hardened gaze.

“Quasi, look at me,” she commanded in her firm voice that Quasi knew he’d bee a fool to argue against. “What happened to you was _not_ your fault. It was an accident. But…like it or not, the Judge would have continued hunting you and Esmeralda until both of you would surely have been killed. Even when…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the lustful look Frollo had gotten in his eyes the day of the Feast of Fools when he’d watched Esmeralda perform her dance up on the stage.

She swallowed down hard past a lump in her throat and continued.

“You’re _strong_ , Quasi. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. In here,” she murmured, placing her hand on his heart for emphasis, letting out a content sigh as he reached up with one of his gloved hands and caught her hand in his, gripping onto her hand tight. “You’re way stronger than me, than anyone else I’ve ever known, to be willing to risk your own life for your friend, for what you think is right, even if it’s against your family.”

Quasi’s pale blue eyes, so tearful and conflicted wavered slightly as he dared not look away from her, but after a second they closed in utter despair and anguish.

“I—I didn’t think that he…that he’d…I _couldn’t_ let him kill E—Esmeralda,” he whispered, his voice cracking as it trailed off. He couldn’t bring his thought to completion as he buried his face in his hands. Madellaine let out a sad sigh and forced Quasi’s hands to rest down in his lap, firmly gripping onto the man’s wrists and trapping them.

She scooted a fraction of an inch closer and heaved a tiny groan as she used what little strength was left that she’d not exerted climbing all those damn bloody stairs to sit up here on the balcony with him, here at the top of the world, until the young blonde was almost straddling his lap. Madellaine did not hesitate to wrap her arms around his middle, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on top of his hair.

A rather suggestive-looking embrace for two individuals who weren’t even married, let alone not officially courting, and she sincerely hoped that none of the clergymen or Heaven help them, Phoebus and Esmeralda would come back and find the two of them in such an intimate way. She blushed as heat crept to her cheeks, though she shoved aside such thoughts now.

Quasi needed her to be strong right now. The hug she gave was a simple enough gesture. Affection even _love_.

The arms that held onto him were soft yet strong. The feel of Madellaine’s warm body so close to his and the fact that she didn’t flinch away in disgust or fear soothed Quasimodo’s broken heart more than he had expected it to.

She knew the man was close to the Judge, as his son. He was a son who had just lost his father to utter insanity. It was surely more than enough to send his mind insane, if he let it, but Madellaine had no intention of letting that happen.

“I—I’m so _sorry_ , Quasi,” she apologized guiltily, her quiet voice sounding strained as a tear escaped her right eyelid and slid down her cheek, landing on top of Quasi’s head as she sat in his lap. “I—I didn’t mean to be so insensitive about it. Frollo was your father. He meant a great deal to you. I know that now. Mourn him. It will help you to heal. Let yourself feel it.”

The world, Madellaine thought, was better off without a wicked man like Frollo in their lives, and she was grateful the bastard was dead, though she’d never admitted it.

“It was wrong of your father to use you, Quasi,” she said softly, allowing her hands to drift upwards and began raking her fingers through his thick tuft of short red hair.

Madellaine continued speaking, knowing her love needed to hear her words, whether or not he accepted them, however, would be up to him. She could not help him with that. “None of this was your fault, Quasi. You know that. I know it, so does Esmeralda and Phoebus. I hope you can understand it for yourself, my love,” she murmured in a soothing tone, gently carding her fingers through his hair in such a way that sent a tremor of pleasure down his spine.

She glanced down as she felt Quasi raise his head for a moment before his hands gripped tightly on her waist, shifting her in his lap, his fingers clutching onto the back of her dress for support.

“Thank you,” he managed to utter as a half-choked sob that was trapped in his throat. As he whispered his gratitude for Madellaine’s words, it felt like a hushed, dirty secret, their gazes locked as blue ice met ice, both cold.

“You have a big heart, Quasi. I—I don’t know if I would possess such compassion to care for a man who’d brought so much hurt to me and to my friends. To the city. You’re much more of a man than Frollo ever gave you credit for, and don’t let anybody ever tell you differently.”

Quasi let out a haggard-sounding sigh, his broad chest shaking as he lifted his chin and ran his finger down along the side of Madellaine’s cheek, before settling it on her collarbones, relishing in the shiver he made her elicit.

He swallowed down past the lump forming in his throat, fighting in vain to tamper down the salty liquid gathering at the edges of his eyes as he turned his gaze back to Madellaine, heartbroken to see how much she cared.

“H—he wasn’t a man, Madellaine. He was…a monster,” he whispered, swallowing, his voice pulled tight.

Madellaine furrowed her thin eyebrows into a frown, sensing there was more the bell ringer wanted to say on the matter, but she didn’t give him a chance as she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, squeezing lightly, ignoring the brief jolt of pain that shot up her leg.

She captured his head with her hands and pressed her lips to his mouth passionately, her lips meeting his with fervor. The moment their lips met, the entire balcony vanished for her instantly. Her eyes fell closed, and Madellaine could feel was Quasi. His warmth, his touch.

 _Just him_. Madellaine’s heart ached with a heavy desire for the man who now held her heart, always and forever, and who gave a damn what polite society thought.

Proper edict could go to hell for all she cared, when his arms wrapped around tighter on her back before his hands drifted to the back of her skull, pressing in lightly.

Madellaine could feel hot tears stinging in her eyes, and when Quasi pulled away to gasp for much-needed air, she decided she wasn’t having any of it. She’d almost lost him today, and that thought she didn’t even like to _think_ it.

She yanked him back roughly before he could even protest, needing him, wanting his lips to move in sync with hers. She was intoxicated. She was sure she was bewitching him right now, if the tight grip on her waist and how his hands were practically shaking with the effort to restrain his instinctual urge to explore the crevices and curves of her body, were any indication, but Madellaine didn’t care.

Nothing would matter after this. She’d never had anything that was this good enough. Except for this, and nothing was going to stop this now that they were alone.

This thing that was happening between the two of them was exhilarating. And nothing— _nothing_ —would stop it. She knew they shouldn’t. They weren’t married yet, and as far as she was concerned, Madellaine didn’t know if he even wanted her in that way, to take her as a wife one day, but it was already much too far gone now for her to take it back. She’d initiated the first move and now it was too late.

The emotions exploding in her chest made her words feel impossible to describe what was happening.

His hand moved convulsively up her cheek and around the back of her head. Shock obliterated her thoughts. _Your lips are made for kissing, love_ , she thought. _I can’t do this, this isn’t right, we’re not officially married in the eyes of God, this is a sin, but it feels…right_.

But it was useless. The love she felt for him won out in the end. Both of her hands entangled themselves in Quasi’s shocking tuft of vibrant red hair, her lips opening, for his tongue. She turned her head closer so they could be closer together without knocking against their noses, then.

She was horrified at the thought of how inexperienced the both of them were, though it didn’t seem to matter, as both of them, she knew, moved on instinct.

But none of that mattered as there was a brief pause before both of them moved for one another and she fell back against the cold stone of the balcony floor, protesting when she felt Quasi’s arms grip her forearm, murmuring something under his breath about wanting her to be warm and in a spot more comfortable, like his sleeping nook.

“ _No_ ,” she gasped, yanking on the sleeve of his tunic, and pulling him back so he was lying on top of her, pressing her lips to his once more, kissing the man with an intense hunger, grief, savagery at what Frollo had done. " _Here_. Right here."

Madellaine could no longer think straight, and she was unable to remember distinctly what followed next, but only that she couldn’t manage to catch a breath until Quasi pulled apart, his eyes half-lidded, panting to catch his breath. “Love,” he panted, sounding so unsure of himself. “I—if you don’t want me to, th—then…make me _stop_. I—I will. Tell me,” he pleaded, sounding almost like begging.

“No.” She was sure she sounded twice as drunk as him, her own voice heavy with desire for him. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t want the connection between them to sever, simply because he was nervous. She was afraid, too.

He didn’t, lowering his head until his lips met hers as he let out a groan, pressing his face to hers, gripping onto her hair tightly. He was overcome. Overwhelmed.

Madellaine wanted him. Just him and he couldn’t adequately express how much this meant to him in words, and he was having even more trouble believing that this was finally happening to him, neither one of them caring of the cold that made their skin erupt into goosebumps at all.

He’d heard other soldiers talk of the act before in lewd terms that he himself had never fully agreed with, though he’d also not given much thought to it as he’d never believed that a woman would want to be with him in a romantic way, now that this thing was happening, he felt sure that he would never want to move again at all.

He made careful sure not to hurt her as their kiss deepened, and she let out a tiny moan of pleasure in response. He swallowed that moan and looped his free hand around her middle, pressing her closer to him.

The feeling of her lips, her body, her entire being engulfing his, surrounding him, had him seeing stars.

“Quasi,” she whispered as he lowered his lips to hers again for another kiss, this one much gentler and more passionate as she recognized from listening to Maria talk about it, what was happening between the two of them was an experience she’d heard tell of but never experienced.

It was turning into something she recognized, something that she longed for, and Madellaine did not grant herself the opportunity to second guess or doubt her decision as she closed her eyes, pressed her lips to his, and lost herself to the sensation of loving him on the balcony.

She loved him just the way that he was. She did not see what the other Parisians saw when they looked at him.

She did not see a monster, an accursed demon, but she chose to see the man that she loved as just exactly that.

A man. And it was that man who held her heart that she allowed herself to give all of herself that she had left to give right there on the tower, not even feeling the chill of the frigid winter air as she lost herself to the overwhelming and euphoric sensation of loving him the only way she knew how, and she decided she wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. As long as she was in his arms, she didn’t care if the whole world burned in a horrible fire.

As long as he was inside her, loving her when it happened.


	43. Healing

**Chapter Forty-Three: Healing**

**ESMERALDA** huffed, still feeling winded, turning her head to the side to cough, Phoebus trailing close behind her as Esmeralda gathered the skirts of her dress in her hands to climb so many bloody stairs that led to her friend’s tower, hoping with all her might that Madellaine had managed to calm down Quasi.

The Judge’s body had been safely removed from the front steps by a couple of the monks and lay brothers and taken to the silent sisters near the back of the cathedral in order to prepare the Judge’s body for burial, though in her mind, Frollo did not deserve even an unmarked grave, thinking it would be better for the man to just let his body _rot_ , or better, let the people have him. After all that the Judge had done, he did not deserve it.

“Wh—why are there…so many…stairs…?” she gasped, clutching at a stitch in her side, one hand on her ribcage as she turned her head to the side to cough, flinching only once as she felt the tempered strength of Phoebus’s calloused hand on her shoulder, his tanned, concerned face suddenly thrust into hers.

“Esmeralda?” he demanded, concerned for his lady love. He steadied her by the shoulders and gave Esmeralda a slight shake. “Are you well? What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone urgent.

Esmeralda shakily held up a hand and wound her slender fingers around Phoebus’s strong bicep and gave it a light squeeze. “I—I’m _fine_ , Phoebus. It’s—it’s just a little smoke is all.”

And this much was truer still. There was no telling just how much smoke her lungs had inhaled while trapped on her pyre, though she was just grateful Quasimodo had saved her life.

She glanced down at the tray carefully balanced in her hands, given to her by Sister Alice, who told Esmeralda almost painstakingly so to ensure the boy and the girl ate every bite. Two helpings of a hearty-looking hot soup in chipped bowls and a hearty-looking half loaf of bread and some cheese.

Esmeralda gingerly pressed the flat of her palm against the wooden door, careful not to jostle the tray balanced against the crook of her elbow in her other arm, not wanting to spill a drop of the soup Sister Alice and Sister Ethel had painstakingly prepared.

“Quasi? Madellaine? It's us, we brought you food,” she called out softly, her voice reverberating off the desolate, empty bell tower walls. She furrowed her dark brows into a frown as she saw no sign of her friends, cringing how her voice was still echoing through the place even long after Esmeralda had stopped speaking at all.

Phoebus snorted, still keeping a firm hand on her shoulder as he too made a quick scan of the tower loft and spotted no sign of the bell ringer or of the young blonde. “Maybe they went for a walk to help the boy clear his head after all that happened. I don’t blame them either, _I_ wouldn’t want to be cooped up here all the time either,” he joked darkly, his smile faltering as he looked around.

Esmeralda shot him a slightly admonishing look as she gingerly set the tray on Quasi’s wooden carving table, careful to leave the tray closer to the edge so as to not spill any soup or crumbs onto the truly exquisite pieces. She set down the tray with perhaps more force than was necessary, in the hopes of announcing her presence to her friends and wherever they had disappeared to, it would entice them to come out and talk to her.

She smirked, fighting back the edges of a triumphant smile, when she was rewarded for her efforts a little bit later when the two of them emerged from the balcony, looking…

 _Disheveled_. Windswept, breathless, and pink in the cheeks. Quasi’s red hair was wild, sticking up in tufts every which way, and judging by the stumbling way that Madellaine was walking, as though it pained her, Esmeralda almost laughed.

Glancing sideways at Captain Phoebus out of the corner of her eye, she could tell the handsome golden-haired Sun God saw it too and looked like he was fighting the urge to erupt into a bout of boisterous laughter, but he managed to tamper it down.

 _Good for them_ , Esmeralda thought affectionately, quickly molding her cheeks into a soft smile, hoping it didn’t betray the emotions she was currently feeling. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Quasi, and she considered the girl a friend.

She gave a tiny cough that had nothing to do with her initial shock and awe at realizing what had transpired between her two friends, how the two had seemingly taken the next initiative and had allowed themselves to discover what it meant to truly love one another in each other’s arms, though Esmeralda couldn’t’ help but feel curious as she peeked out at the balcony.

It was bloody freezing outside. How they weren’t cold she had no idea, though she did notice affectionately that Quasi had yet to let go of Madellaine’s hand, and the woolen cape that had used to belong to his master was now draped over her shoulders.

“We brought soup,” Esmeralda murmured in what she hoped was a kind and neutral tone, though as her gaze flitted towards Madellaine, she could tell the young blonde was troubled. Well. That was one way of putting it. She frowned.

Truth be told, her friend was looking almost downright distraught, which Esmeralda failed to comprehend why that was.

Frollo was dead. The entire city of Paris was rejoicing.

She was free to love Quasi to her heart’s content, so why then, did she look so forlorn and miserable? Sensing something was amiss, Esmeralda swallowed down hard past the lump in her throat and turned her attention towards Quasi.

“Do you think it would be all right if I borrowed Madellaine for a moment, my friend?” Esmeralda murmured in her low voice, striding over towards where the two young lovers stood and clasping her hands in his strong gloved ones. “She and I shan’t be long at all.”

Esmeralda felt Quasimodo stun at the request, though as the red-haired young man quickly looked towards Madellaine for confirmation, he breathed out a little tired sigh as she nodded.

“Th—that’s fine, o—of course,” he murmured in a sheepish tone, reaching up with one of his hands to scratch at an itch behind his ear, though it did not escape Esmeralda’s attention how the younger man was constantly throwing nervous looks at Phoebus. “E—everything is all right, Esmeralda?”

There was no mistaking the note of concern laced throughout his voice as he seemed to have trouble tearing his gaze away from Madellaine and Phoebus, not wanting to be left alone in his bell tower with the golden-haired ex-soldier at all.

"Everything is fine, Quasi, no need to worry. I just want a quick chat with Madellaine, that's all," Esmeralda spoke up kindly.

Esmeralda quickly nodded, reaching out a hand and winding her fingers around Madellaine’s forearm, hoping to guide her out to the balcony or some other part of the cathedral where the two women wouldn’t be overheard. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. Her intuition was buzzing like a hive of bees, and she knew the only way to get answers to probe Madellaine’s mind to find out just what was going on.

And if she was being honest, there was another part of her that hoped that Quasimodo and Phoebus would make amends and at least attempt to come to a mutual understanding and a reconciliation of sorts if she was to marry Captain Phoebus when things in the city calmed after Frollo’s death.

She offered a curt nod towards the bell ringer and ex-captain before proceeding to drag the young blonde out onto the balcony. The very same balcony, Esmeralda suspected, she had a hunch, that her two friends had spent some time in love’s gentle embrace, relishing in the pleasure that true love had to offer.

Madellaine did not look at Esmeralda as she spoke, being the first one to break the silence. “Your people are _free_ , my friend. What happens next for you? Where will you go, Esme?”

Esmeralda paused, considering her words. In truth, she didn’t know. She and the rest of her people had lived so long under the scrutiny and rule of various monarchs where Clopin’s tribe went, and most recently throughout the last few years since they had migrated and come to the city of Paris, Frollo’s thumb.

But the man was dead now, and in truth, Esmeralda had no idea how she was supposed to feel about that. She supposed she ought to feel relieved, glad, but instead, she felt… _nothing_.

“Esmeralda?” Madellaine’s voice pulled Esmeralda from her thoughts as Esmeralda rested her elbows on the balcony’s balustrade, the cool air as night fell tousling her black curls off her shoulders and away from her face. Madellaine was looking at her with deep concern and worry etched all on her pretty face.

Her brow creased and her nails dug into the skin of her palms as she inclined her head, worried she’d overstepped an invisible boundary with her friend just now by asking after her.

If Esmeralda squinted, she could swear she saw Phoebus and Quasimodo’s heads looking in their general direction, craning their necks trying to peer out onto the balcony whilst at the same time attempting to be inconspicuous about it and utterly failing. She smiled a tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

No doubt both men were worried for the pair of women. The evilest, vile man that had walked the streets of Paris was dead. How was one supposed to feel after that? Proud? Happy? No. Esmeralda felt none of this. If anything, all she wanted was to go back to the Court of Miracles, if there was anything left of the place still standing after Frollo’s soldiers ransacked it, and sleep in Phoebus’s arms for several days.

She wanted peace. “Esmeralda?” Madellaine’s voice came again, this time a hint of panic surged throughout her shy voice.

Esmeralda blinked, pulled from her dark tempest of thoughts that were clouding her mind as she thought of Frollo, turning towards Madellaine with a furtive, guilty look on her face. “I—I’m fine, my friend. Really,” she said, patting her arm.

Madellaine raised her eyebrows and scoffed. “Esmeralda, you aren’t looking so great. You don’t look fine at all. In fact, you look like you’re going to pass out and collapse. Here, sit down.”

As if to emphasize her point, the young blonde took a seat on the balcony’s terrace floor, using the cold stone wall as a support brace, sliding to the floor, and sitting cross-legged there.

Esmeralda let out a sigh, sensing her dear friend was not going to let this matter drop until she chose to follow suit. So, for better or worse, she copied the blonde woman’s movements and was inwardly surprised when the moment she sat down and felt her body go limp and at rest now that she wasn’t moving, she already felt much better. She took a moment to inhale a few deep breaths of fresh air, a long, slow exhale so as to not over-exert herself before she turned towards Madellaine and spoke to her.

“What ails you, my friend?” Esmeralda prodded gently, hoping her voice didn’t sound accusatory as she cocked an eyebrow and waited for the younger woman to speak of whatever it was that was causing her brow to furrow in intense concentration, and for her lips to purse in a thin, rigid line.

“It’s…” Madellaine cringed as her voice cracked, suddenly wanting for the floor beneath where they sat to open up and swallow her whole for what she was about to divulge. “Quasi,” she whispered, at last, hating hearing how flat she sounded.

Esmeralda’s eyebrows went up in alarm and concern as she risked a glance over her shoulder towards where the two men stood in the tower, shrouded in shadow, but seemingly deep in the thick of their own conversation, hopefully making amends and starting down the path to eventually be friends.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he injured?” she asked, unable to keep the note of concern from welling in her tone.

Madellaine cringed, feeling afraid that her friend would misinterpret her meaning and it looked like Esmeralda had. She shot out an arm and wound it around Esmeralda’s slender arm.

“N—no, nothing like that,” Madellaine stammered, feeling a fiery heat creep to her cheeks. “It’s…he hasn’t, we…”

Esmeralda chuckled softly to herself as she sensed where the young blonde was going, though wanted to spare her any further embarrassment. “I am happy for the two of you, my friend. If anyone deserves happiness in this world, it’s _him_.”

Despite her friend’s reassurances, Madellaine still felt her stomach twist. “I—I _love_ him, b—but…he’s not said it to me.”

Ah. So _that_ was the root of such misery on her face. Esmeralda’s expression softened as she looked at the blonde, wracking her brain and trying to think of something to say to put her mind at ease, her smile widening as her words came to her.

Esmeralda let out a tiny sigh and tucked a raven curl back behind her ear. “Oftentimes, feelings, especially when it comes to…romance and courting, they are infuriatingly complex and leave you feeling dazed and confused, wondering what it is underneath the surface of words and physical gestures exchanged,” she said, a light pink blush creeping on her cheeks.

Good Lord above, spare her, for she never thought she would be having this conversation with another woman before.

It was admittedly rather awkward, but not so much more for poor Madellaine, who looked about ready to die of shame, her face practically beet red as she pulled Frollo’s old cloak tighter around her. Esmeralda let out a cough to clear her throat as she forced herself to continue, no matter how awkward it was.

Madellaine needed to hear this, no matter what, then.

“I believe…Quasi genuinely cares for you, Lena, but I also think that he cares more importantly what _you_ think about _him_. You’re the first woman in his life to take an interest in him romantically, and I imagine a lot of this is still new to him. Since my skills are limited and I’m no mind reader, it’s difficult for people like us to know what others think of you, but the one thing you can do that will help you above us all is search deep within yourself. Observe yourself and question your own feelings towards Quasi and what’s…happened between you two so far. Obviously, his presence in your life has affected you greatly. So…that leaves you with just one question to ask you, Lena.”

Madellaine visibly winced, already knowing where Esmeralda was heading with this, but stayed silent and let her friend speak.

“What is it that _you_ feel, Lena? Towards Quasi? What do _you_ think of him? And please, we’re friends now, so be _honest_. I can’t help you unless I know the details,” Esmeralda said softly.

Madellaine blinked owlishly at her friend and now, close confidante. It felt as though her brain stuttered for a good long moment and her eyes took in more blinding light from the swooping fog than expected, and her nose tickled as she fought back a sneeze. Every part of her went on pause while her thoughts struggled to catch up. Even now, Quasi permeated her thoughts, rendering her feeling like he sent her mind insane.

“I love him, Esmeralda, I…wish that I had more words to describe what I feel, but I don’t,” Madellaine confessed after a moment’s silence to consider her words, and in the end, her heart answered for her, anyways, saying the only thing she can.

Esmeralda nodded and squeezed Madellaine’s arm, already knowing that was the answer her friend would give before Madellaine was even aware of such a thing for herself. Esmeralda could see it in Madellaine’s burning blue eyes how much she cared for Notre Dame’s bell ringer, her dear friend.

And that, she supposed, was good enough for her.

“I know, and I think…that Quasi knows too. Give him _time_ , Lena. He’ll say it to you whenever he’s ready. He will. I can feel it, my friend,” she whispered softly, her words faint as the wind, as the secret stayed between them as the two women sat out on the balcony of the cathedral in content silence.

At peace. As friends.

* * *

Quasi kept his gaze fixated on the balcony, though he decided resignedly that he could not continue ignoring the ex-captain of Frollo’s guard forever upon hearing the golden-haired handsome soldier awkwardly clear his throat as he searched for his words.

Well. That made two of them. What was he to say to Phoebus?

“Quasi?” The name left Captain Phoebus’s lips rather awkwardly, though it was more than enough to inspire a response from the cathedral’s bell ringer.

Quasi grunted wordlessly as he turned at the waist to regard the captain, folding his arms across his broad chest, waiting for the captain to elaborate why he was here, other than following Esmeralda and ensuring her safety.

“If I could speak candidly with you?” Phoebus pressed, his gaze unabashed and unwavering as he looked at the intimidating form of the bell ringer standing to his full height of around 6’3, and much stronger than Phoebus.

It was clear to Quasimodo from the sudden warbling note in the man’s now-quiet tone that Phoebus de Chateaupers was not necessarily a man who was used to asking permission to speak and say whatever was coming to his mind at the moment.

Quasi stifled a growl of frustration, wanting nothing more than to be left alone with Madellaine, to take comfort in her arms and love her until the two of them fell asleep in one another’s arms in the warm and relative comfort of his sleeping nook, as it should be.

He did not at all regret what happened between the two of them, but…now he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know where to go next, what the next step was. She had no father with whom he could have an uncomfortable discussion to ask for Madellaine’s hand in marriage, though he remembered her older sister, Maria, and Quasi shuddered, gritting his teeth, not sure what he’d say if he saw the girl again.

The bell ringer shrugged his shoulders in what Quasi hoped was a nonchalant way.

“Sure.” His voice, he was able to discern, sounded cold and uninviting, and he visibly flinched. He hoped Phoebus hadn’t noticed. As he glanced sideways out of the corner of his one good eye at Esmeralda’s soldier, he realized a fraction of a second too late, Phoebus had.

If the hurt look on the man’s face was anything for Quasimodo to go off of. It was still something of a shock for him to believe that Esmeralda was deeply in love with this man. Letting out a sigh, Quasi cleared his throat and tried again, then.

If Madellaine and Esmeralda were going to be a while, and Esmeralda and Phoebus weren’t going anywhere any time soon now that Frollo was no longer a threat to them, then he supposed the least he could do was try to make amends with him.

Though that did not mean this conversation was going to be an _easy_ one to be had, Quasi knew, with a sinking feeling.

“I—I wanted to speak to you alone a moment. I know there have been…” Phoebus paused to consider his word choice. He blew out a deep breath before continuing. “Ill feelings towards our relationship as it pertains to Esmeralda.” Phoebus sounded quite surprised and somewhat flustered as he spoke. “I just thought that, considering your friendship with her, then you’ll want to hear what I have to say to you,” he said slowly.

Quasi scoffed, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes. _No, Phoebus, I think that I won’t,_ he thought resentfully to himself.

Phoebus sensed the bell ringer’s growing discomfort and paused, keeping his gaze fixated on the pair of women’s silhouettes still huddled on the floor of the balcony, talking. He appeared extremely hesitant for a moment, before he evidently found his words and began to speak, his voice grim.

“I don’t think it should come as a shock that I want to marry Esmeralda, Quasimodo,” he spoke up in a somber voice.

Despite his newfound… whatever it was that he and Madellaine had entered into, now that they had crossed that boundary outside on the very balcony that Esmeralda and Madellaine now rested on top of, he still felt something within his chest tighten as his throat hollowed and constricted then.

Yes, he knew. He’d caught the longing little glances the two of them exchanged when they thought he wasn’t looking, but Quasi was an observant young man. He’d seen the ring on Esmeralda’s finger, the brilliant gold of the little piece of jewelry flashing brilliantly when the two had come to his tower just now.

“I know,” Quasimodo answered in a surprisingly rough and grating voice, still not looking at Captain Phoebus, instead of finding it easier to keep his gaze fixed on Madellaine’s figure.

Captain Phoebus nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “I just…wanted to get your feelings on the matter before we marry, my friend.” Judging by the expression he was making, it was evident to the bell ringer that the soldier was not enjoying this conversation, looking like he wanted for this to be over with.

 _Well_. That made _two_ of them. Though before Quasi could open his mouth to speak, Phoebus continued.

“I know that you care for Esmeralda, my friend. I know that she’s your friend, and I would never ask you to stop seeing her, nor would I keep her from you. I hope that you can understand and _know_ that, Quasi. I just want to be sure there are no, ah…difficult feelings between you and me going forward. I know Esmeralda cares for you, and if it weren’t for _you_ then I would have lost Esmeralda forever.”

Quasi found himself shaking his head vehemently in protest, wanting to clear the air, more for Esmeralda’s sake than his. “There’s no need for this, Phoebus,” he protested. “I—I was just…I couldn’t let her die. She—she’s my friend. Y—you would have done the same for me, I hope,” he added hoarsely as he turned his head to look at Captain Phoebus in astonishment.

Phoebus nodded his agreement. “I would have,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke the edges of his goatee. “I don’t want to put Esmeralda through the hassles of a feuding friend and a fiancé. For her sake, and ours, I’d like to try to set aside our differences and work at the two of us becoming good friends. I—I just want to be clear on this. Will you hate me, Quasimodo, if I marry Esmeralda?” he asked, leaving his question hanging.

Quasi froze, not having anticipated that would be the question the golden-haired ex-military captain would ask him.

“I want Esmeralda to be happy, Captain,” he said. He swallowed down hard and forced himself to continue. “You make Esmeralda happy, Phoebus. She is my friend. Nothing more and nothing less than that, I—I have Madellaine in my life, Phoebus.”

The other man’s hardened hazel eyes widened for a moment before his expression softened as he looked at Quasi.

“You…you really mean this? You aren’t lying to me?” he questioned, quirking a blond brow in Quasimodo’s direction.

Quasi snorted in disbelief. This time, he really did roll his eyes. “Why would I lie?” he asked, staring at Phoebus with incredulous disbelief on his strong, angular features. “You didn’t lie to me, Captain. And I won’t lie to you. I know you’ll give Esmeralda everything that you could ever want. My… _friend_ …”

He felt Captain Phoebus stun at his compliment and the use of the word ‘friend’ thought the soldier was good at hiding it.

“Thank you,” Phoebus said briskly after a moment, reaching out with his left hand to shake Quasi’s. He took it, stunned, and then just as quickly as it had come, dropped his hand out of Phoebus’s strong grasp and flexed his fingers.

The captain fell silent and watched their two lady loves still conversing out on the balcony, looking thoughtful and lost in contemplative thought for a moment before he spoke again.

“She’s a cute girl, our Madellaine is. You two seem quite content and happy together. I’m…happy for you, my friend.”

“Oh. Um…I—I don’t…” The bell ringer looked away in embarrassment as a light blush speckled along his cheeks, though a smile threatened to crack the surface of his face.

Phoebus scoffed, clapping the younger man on the back, causing poor Quasimodo to nearly jump out of his skin at the unexpected gesture. “Don’t start this, boy. Own it a little bit, yes? Just if I can give you a piece of advice, don’t wait too long to make an honest woman out of the girl. Talk to her sister, if we can find her, though something tells me Maria will come.”

“What are you…?” Quasimodo started to ask but trailed off the moment the golden-haired captain’s words sunk in.

In the heavy silence that followed, the soldier quirked a thick blond eyebrow at him, furrowing his brows into a frown.

“Unless marriage _isn’t_ in your plans? My apologies, boy, I thought you weren’t the type to fling that girl’s feelings about.”

Quasi silently seethed, gnashing his teeth together so hard he felt his molars give an audible clack! as they clenched.

How _dare_ the captain assume that he was anything less than honorable? Quasi swallowed down hard past the churning fire seed of anger welling deep in his stomach, not wanting to pick a fight with Esmeralda’s soldier when the man was clearly making an effort on his part to try to make amends with him.

It seemed only right that he returns the favor in kind.

“I—I don’t know,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I—we never…had a chance to discuss it. I—I’d _like_ to, b—but I don’t know where to start,” he confessed, scratching at his hair in ire. "I don't even know i-if that's what Madellaine wants," he mumbled, shamefaced and suddenly embarrassed at not knowing.

Phoebus nodded in understanding. “Don’t worry about it then, my friend. Just keep it in mind if Madellaine’s going to be living here with you from now on, won’t you?” he murmured.

Quasi nodded in response, unable to say anything, favoring silence as the only apt response to his question in this case. He knew that the man was right as loathed as he was to admit it. After surviving the aftermath of what they had experienced together out on the balcony, he wasn’t sure where to go next. Madellaine treated him like no one else in his life.

She sat close to him, held his hands, kissed him, had given herself to him in a way that he never thought he’d have.

Quasi had never given it much thought until after they had come together and experienced what it meant to love one another, and she acted as he thought a wife would to her husband. He shook his head to himself as Esmeralda and Madellaine finally made their way back inside the warmth of his north bell tower loft, shoving aside all thoughts of it for now.

He forced a smile on his face that he knew didn’t quite feel genuine. As Esmeralda and Phoebus left the tower after about an hour of staying to eat with them, he stayed up late into the late hours of the night, long after Madellaine had fallen asleep. He knew what it was that he needed to do, but God, he knew he was really going to hate this more than anything else.

Quasi knew without a shadow of a doubt in his mind, that he was going to have to ask Madellaine’s sister for her hand.

And that was not a conversation he was looking forward to having, but it was only proper edict and the right thing to do.

And he would do it for Madellaine. Because…he _loved_ her.


	44. Because I Love Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, hard to believe there's only 1 more chapter, but fear not, my lovely readers! Book 2 of my What Makes a Monster Series picks up almost immediately where this one ends, so plenty more shenanigans in store for my favorite OTP! I hope that you've enjoyed the story thus far and continue to do so as Book 1 wraps up and segues into Part 2!

**Chapter Forty-Four: Because I Love Her**

**MADELLAINE** was amazed at how quickly she settled into life in Quasi’s bell tower alongside him. The clergyman alongside the Archdeacon with the help of a few of the silent sisters were able to private bury the Judge’s body in an unmarked gravestone in the midst of the dead of night in order to prevent the Parisians from vandalizing the man’s gravesite. She couldn’t help but wonder if Quasi would still attempt to seek it out.

Like it or not, the man had still been his father. He claimed he had no interest in finding it, though Madellaine liked to think she knew the man well enough by this point into their newfound relationship only a few days into their courtship, after Quasi had finally summoned up the courage to ask if he could officially court her, to which she had rolled her eyes and happily agreed, wondering what took the man so long to ask, to know when he was lying to her. He was bothered by it.

Madellaine could see it in Quasi’s eyes whenever the bell ringer thought she wasn’t looking. She told herself not to worry, that everyone grieves and mourns in different ways, and she supposed right now all the man needed was a little distance, but that didn’t stop her from fretting. Right now, was no exception.

Still, when the young blonde heard the creak of a floorboard underfoot, she jumped and rushed towards the edge of the wooden platform of the mezzanine. Quasi was up on the upper level mending a rather large and ungainly-looking crack in Big Marie’s side that needed tending before the next Mass.

“Esmeralda?” she called out cautiously, though her heart sank to the pit of her churning stomach when she realized it was not, in fact, her dear friend as she had been hoping for, instead the tall, broad form of Captain Frederic de Marten stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking thoroughly flustered and a little bit pleased.

Madellaine quirked her brows in surprise and alarm at the dark-haired soldier’s pleased expression, and the misery in the pit of her stomach only worsened when she noticed the newly appointed Captain of the Guard was not alone today.

A figure was hidden in the shadows as Frederic raised his eyes and smiled up kindly where Madellaine stood standing in a rather defensive position, clutching onto the skirts of her dress, as though she thought that would ward off any unwanted advances from Frederic should the man attempt anything dumb.

“Forgive me for disappointing you, Madellaine belle,” Frederic murmured in his smooth, seductive tone that sent a chill down Madellaine’s blood. If Quasi heard the man talking like this, let alone having come up to his tower uninvited and unannounced, he would most assuredly snap the man’s neck. “But you have a visitor, lovely belle. You did not tell me you had such a charming and beautiful _sister_ , Madellaine belle,” he muttered, shooting Madellaine a rather reproachful little glare.

Madellaine furrowed her brows at first, but her jaw went slack when Captain Frederic’s companion stepped from the shadows and into the light of the tower, looking rather nervous. Dressed in a plain purple dress was Maria de Barreau, her sister. Madellaine could only pray that this time, their visit would be much shorter and hopefully much more a pleasant one.

 _Hello, sister_ , Madellaine thought bitterly as all the breath fled from her lungs.

She’d been so caught up in dealing with the aftermath of Judge Frollo’s death that she had quite forgotten the initial shock of her sister’s re-appearance back into her life. Quietly excusing himself, Captain Frederic shot Maria de Barreau an interesting little glance that caused Madellaine to scoff and roll her eyes.

She _knew_ what the soldier boy thought. If he couldn’t have her in the romantic way that he wanted, Madellaine wouldn’t be all that surprised to learn the new dark-haired captain and friend of Phoebus was pursuing her only sister, though only Maria could confirm such a weird suspicion.

Frederic retreated down the stairs to leave the two women to stare at one another in uncomfortable, awkward silence. After a moment, Maria de Barreau nervously wrang her hands together and dug her fingernails into the skin of her palms, and looked towards her younger sister, pursing her lips angrily.

“ _Well_? Won’t you invite your sister up, Lena? It’s quite _rude_ , you know, to leave your family member standing all alone down here in this cold, drafty tower loft,” she asked in a measured voice that was surprisingly calm and tempered.

Madellaine blinked owlishly at her sister as if waking out of a dream that she wasn’t quite sure was real or not, and stammered, trying to collect her thoughts.

“I—I mean, yes, o—of course. Come in, Maria, um, I mean, that is to say, well, come _up_.” She shot her sister a weak smile that was more like a grimace that Maria did not return as she slowly ascended the stairs.

Once she was on level with Madellaine, smoothing the skirts of her dress and tucking back a lock of her short jet-black pixie, she took a quick look around Quasimodo’s bell tower, her slender nose crinkling in a look of immense disapproval and ire.

Then she looked towards her younger sibling and surveyed Madellaine in heavy silence for so long, causing the young blonde woman to suddenly feel quite warm and self-conscious. Madellaine’s blood boiled in her veins, but until she could learn the purpose of Maria’s visit, she vowed to stay quiet.

It was surely the only way to avoid a fight, and in Quasi’s emotionally vulnerable state while he worked through processing his feelings towards Frollo’s death and his newfound freedom, a fight between herself and her sister was the last thing the poor man needed.

“Well, ah…” Maria finally said at length, sounding awkward and so horribly unsure of herself. “You look more like Mama every day, my sweet Lena. It’s an honor, sister.”

This wasn’t the first time Madellaine had heard it throughout her life. Papa had used to say it to her all the time, but this time, Madellaine felt it wasn’t meant as a compliment.

Madellaine let out a haggard sigh and pinched at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as she squared her shoulders, raising her chin and jutting it out defiantly at her. “I loved our papa just as much as you did, Maria. If you’ve come here to argue with me, you won’t find one here. You can just _leave_ if you’re looking for yet another argument, sister.”

Maria blinked owlishly at her sister, taken aback by her sibling’s commanding tone. She opened her mouth to say something, though must have thought better of it, for she promptly closed it again, needing a moment to collect herself. She proceeded to draw in a deep breath and spoke up. “I was merely seeing. Calm down, Lena.”

Madellaine wasn’t sure what else more she had to say to her sister, considering the last time she’d come up here, she had almost physically assaulted Quasi, and the two had argued heavily. She said nothing while she wracked her brain for something to say.

Hugging her middle, Madellaine looked wildly around the bell tower for something she could use to start a conversation in the hopes of regaining some measure of civility in their relationship that had become strained since Papa’s death.

Her gaze landed on Quasi’s workbench nearby and thought that sufficient enough as she wandered to the stool. “W—would you care to sit down? Your—your knees must be _killing_ you. A—all those steps,” Madellaine joked weakly, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she situated herself on the stool, folding one leg over the other, and restlessly began to fidget with her fingers resting uneasily in her lap now.

Maria inclined her head, saying nothing, and swept past her younger sister in order to pull the stool out from underneath Quasi’s carving table. She settled down on it, scrunching her face in discomfort at the hard and roughhewn surface of the stool.

Madellaine rolled her eyes and chose to ignore the look and scooted her chair closer towards her sister, while still maintaining a respectable-enough distance, just in case Maria flew off the handle and lost her temper with her a second time. Silence hung over the two identical sisters for a moment. Madellaine chewed on the wall of her mouth while she tried to collect her thoughts, feeling like she was failing in that regard.

Maria settled to avert her sister’s quizzical gaze and instead looked around the bell tower, at the dozens of bells above her head, looking towards the stained glass mobile that Quasi had hung over his carving table to provide light and color for himself while he worked.

Her inquisitive bright blue eyes made a quick scan of the diorama of Paris and the model of Notre Dame. Eventually, her curiosity won out in the end as she picked up a figure of a carved sheep and the figure of the baker.

“Uh, this is… _cute_ , I guess,” Maria offered cautiously, not catching her younger sister’s growing look of affection in her eyes as she eagerly nodded her agreement, missing the sarcasm.

“It is,” Madellaine nodded.

“Love, I wonder if I could have a moment with your… _affianced_?” Maria questioned her sister, who was looking quite angry as her face paled in shock and anger as she opened her mouth to retort, though Quasimodo shot a pointed look and the tiniest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he looked back at Maria.

“O—of course,” he stammered, looking just as flustered as Madellaine was, and perhaps a little fearful, though he swallowed down hard past a lump in his throat and did not speak again until Madellaine reluctantly left and headed down the stairwell that led to the main level of the sanctuary, murmuring something under her breath about going to take a walk and she would be back later.

Quasimodo was left alone in the bell tower’s loft with only Madellaine’s older sister for company, and her near-identical sibling, save for her short black hair instead of Madellaine’s shade of blonde, was quite looking like she very much wanted to have the bell ringer drawn and quartered while he remained in the same presence as her.

Maria moved swiftly forward and poured herself a chalice of red wine from a nearby tin decanter that Sister Alice had brought up earlier in celebration of hearing the news that the boy whom she considered much like a son to her was now engaged.

At first, the bell ringer thought the solemn woman considered the wine may be needed to soften the blow of learning her sister was engaged to him.

But then he noticed that Maria de Barreau’s hand was stalling, afraid of even wanting to look him in the eye.

After downing one glass and pouring another that Quasimodo was sure would have made Phoebus proud, Maria de Barreau spoke as she braced herself for the truth, leaning heavily against the side of his carving table.

“My sister?” she asked gravely. She inhaled sharply and seemed to hold her breath. “You—you _care_ for her.”

Maria did not turn to look at Quasi, but instead waited, almost in dread, for the bell ringer to answer her.

Her tone was matter-of-fact, which momentarily caught the young man by surprise, though he quickly recovered, feeling a muscle in his strong, angular jaw twitch.

“With everything that I am, though I may not be much at all, milady.” He looked at Madellaine’s sister, and the honesty in which the bell ringer spoke had touched her. Quasi, ever the intuitive, observant young man that he was, could see it in her eyes, how her blue eyes lit up.

Maria de Barreau reflected silently as she filled another goblet, though instead of raising it to her own lips, she reached across the table and handed it to him.

Stunned, he accepted, wanting to say thank you, though his tongue felt thick in his mouth and for a moment, Quasi quite forgot how his words really worked.

“My sister must love you very much,” Maria acknowledged in a somber voice. “Madellaine is the purest and honorable young woman in all of France. She does not take physical relationships lightly. Come to think of it, I don’t think that she has ever been in love before. Our parents did not raise us to feel casual about these types of things. If she gave you her gift, her— _herself_ ,” she stammered, a light pink blush speckling along her cheeks, “th—then it’s safe to say she sees you as her future.” Maria’s words sounded a compliment to Quasimodo.

“I—I hope that you are right, milady.” Quasi offered a nervous little half-chuckle, picturing Madellaine’s sweet smiling face, suddenly wishing that she’d stayed here in the tower with him right by his side.

He could have used the tempered strength of her hand in his own right now, pouring a little of her courage into himself for the turn their conversation was taking.

Quasi lowered his eyes as he searched for the right words. “She—she did not want to tell of my…of our courtship, milady,” he stammered. “She feared how you would receive her, what you would think of her to learn that I want to marry her,” Quasi told Maria de Barreau grimly. “She worries that you will think her less than honorable as if she’s no better than a—a _harlot_ out in the slums. Any—any children we might have, _freaks_ , like _me_.”

He swallowed down hard past a lump in his throat, feeling the onset of tears prick at his lids as he worried that his words held some small semblance of truth, though just as quickly as the foreign emotion had come, he fought it back down.

Then he looked threateningly towards Maria, just in case Madellaine had been correct.

“Madellaine is not… _that_. Anyone who calls the woman I love such a name should find themselves having to deal with _me_. I'd snap their necks if I hear them say such things. And any children that she and I would be blessed with one day would be well provided for. _Loved_. She and I would see to that, mademoiselle.” Overcome with emotion and a sudden onset of grief, Quasimodo was stunned when the young woman’s legs very nearly failed her.

She took a few faltering steps and sat down heavily back on the stool that she had just bolted upright from the moment he announced his presence in the room alongside them. Unbeknownst to either woman, sound traveled in his tower, their voices carried, and he had heard every single word spoken.

Quasi immediately followed, pulling up the spare tool and awkwardly sitting on it, afraid Madellaine’s sister would collapse, and then when his love returned to the tower, he would have a lot of explaining to do. He did not wait for Maria to invite him but sat opposite Maria.

Maria’s bright blue eyes were shimmering, glistening with unshed tears and immense regret as she spoke in a cracked and warbling tone.

“My sister,” she very nearly sobbed, burying her head in her hands and letting out an anguished moan that very nearly caused Quasi’s own heart to cry out, but he stopped himself. “I’ve spent so much of my life trying to ensure she was looked after, and I’ve made my own sister feel unwanted,” she wailed, raising her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle down the half-choked sob of misery.

She looked sincerely towards Quasimodo, who favored silence as the only apt response, not sure what else to say to her in this regard.

“I—I would never regard Madellaine as such, or any children that you might have,” Maria told Quasi, distressed at even just the thought of it. Madellaine’s sister was silent for a moment, picking up her goblet of wine, and studied the bell ringer over the rim with cautious, guarded eyes. “As ah… _unusual_ as you are, monsieur, it touches my heart to see the devotion you hold within for my little sister. At least I know there is someone in this dark, cruel world who will care for her, love her in the way she deserves,” she murmured solemnly.

Quasi raised his eyebrows in alarm. Was it too much to hope for that her sister would give her blessing? Surely, it was, and yet, Quasi found himself doing just that as a foreign sense of excitement coupled with a newfound sense of nervousness bubbled within his chest.

“I—I love her,” Quasi told Maria nervously, painfully wringing his hands together, not sure what else to tell his love’s older sister, save for the God-honest truth. “Madellaine is my heart. Somehow, she—she saw through the monster that I—I am and to the man that I could be. That I…that I’d like to try to be. For—for her.”

He smiled awkwardly, reaching up a hand to scratch at his hair in a nervous fit of agitation, hoping that his words of affirmation would be enough for Maria.

“Not many have bothered to understand my little sister’s lovely heart. You are the first, monsieur,” Maria answered bitterly, taking another hearty swig of her wine.

Quasi’s strong jaw clenched in agitation, mirroring Madellaine’s sister’s rueful misery. “

Sh—she has encountered many _fools_ , milady,” he growled through gritted teeth, shaking his head to rid his troubled mind of images of Captain Frederic and previously until they had made amends, Captain Phoebus. “It’s not just Madellaine’s heart that is captivating, madame,” Quasi sought to correct her, his eyes softening and sparkling with tenderness as a new image replaced that of the dark-haired soldier. _Her_.

Just her. And it was more than enough for him. He kept his gaze fixated out on the balcony as if somehow staring so intently at it would cause his love to just magically appear out on the terrace before his eyes.

“She—she is the most beautiful woman I know,” he said quietly, smiling tenderly, not even realizing he’d spoken out loud just now until Maria cleared her throat.

Lifting her head approvingly, Maria propped her elbows up on the wooden carving table and rested her head in her hands, giving Quasimodo a satisfied little nod.

“I’ve waited a long time for someone to see my little sister for what she truly is, to give Madellaine the love and admiration that our parents wanted her to have,” Maria admitted, looking surprised to hear herself say it.

Quasi nodded, though something within his chest tightened and his throat hollowed and constricted. Suddenly, he could not bring himself to meet Maria’s eyes. “She—she deserves so much _better_ than me,” he conceded, gesturing to himself, his deformities, a fiery heat scorching his cheeks as he ducked his head in shame. "How she sees the man behind the monster that I am, I don't know..." he mumbled darkly to himself.

There was a beat. A pause. And then— “You believe yourself unworthy of Madellaine’s affections,” Maria acknowledged, stating the painfully obvious. “Truth be told, monsieur, you _aren’t_. No one is,” her older sister quickly asserted, her voice deadly serious.

A horrible, antagonizing disappointment swept over the fretting bell ringer, as Quasi’s heart fell to the pit of his churning stomach as his face turned a sickly green.

Did her sister’s disapproval mean she didn’t approve? Would Maria really be so cruel as to take away the one good thing besides his new friendship with Phoebus and Esmeralda away from him? He thought chillingly to himself. That was a punishment he couldn’t accept and did not at all want. He had to make her see…

Madellaine’s sister noticed the young man’s crestfallen disappointment, but nevertheless, continued speaking.

“I think that you misunderstand my meaning, monsieur. The fact that you can understand what a gem and rare treasure my sister is, and that you consider yourself woefully inadequate to have been gifted her love, now that I can see it in your eyes how much you two truly love one another, that it’s _real_ love not bought by gold or silver, is exactly why I’m sure you’re the only man in this entire country who is worthy of Madellaine’s affections.”

Maria chuckled as she studied Quasimodo’s stunned expression with an impassive expression.

At one time, Maria held nothing but contempt for the wretch in front of her. However now, knowing what he meant to Madellaine and her sister’s threat lingering in her mind, that she held this boy, this man, so deeply entrenched in her heart, made Maria reconsider her previous perspective. She trusted Madellaine’s judgment, always had, and would until her dying breath.

So, she trusted _him_.

Quasi blinked, quickly coming to the understanding that Maria’s sister was giving her consent for the life ahead of himself that he dreamed of with Madellaine. He wouldn’t let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and calmly, albeit rather shakingly, addressed her sister.

“Maria, I—I don’t think it’s come as a shock that I’m deeply in love with your sister,” he affirmed. “She—she’s the only woman that I _ever_ want to love. The only woman whose affections I truly hold in my esteem, milady.” Quasi swallowed down hard, hoping that she would accept their relationship, however unusual it was. “I realize I am far from being worthy of such a beautiful woman as Madellaine, but I _swear_ that I will devote the rest of my life endeavoring to try to be worthy of her.”

Quasi paused, feeling so uncertain and unsure of himself, hellbent on choosing the right words, conveying the immense love he felt for Madellaine that he did not realize that slick tears were glistening in his blue eyes as he thought of the young blonde woman who held his heart, the young woman whom he wanted to marry.

“I—I swear to you that I will never let anyone h—hurt her. I will cherish her, treasure her love, always. She will only know love and happiness as long as I’m alive.”

Quasi nervously lifted his gaze and stared intently into Maria’s own, drawing in a breath, anxiously waiting.

“With my heart in my grasp, and with all that I am, though I’m not much at all, I ask for, I pray that you will give me the blessing of your sister’s hand in marriage, being that your…your father is not alive for me to ask, so I am asking you in his stead. May I marry your sister?”

His voice cracked and broke with the weight of his appeal as he lowered his head, feeling quite breathless, waiting for Maria de Barreau’s answer, praying it was yes.

Quasi flinched as he heard Maria draw in a long, slow exhale, considering the heartfelt words he’d just spoken. After a moment that seemed an eternity, he spoke. “Lift your head, monsieur, and _look_ at me, look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you, boy,” came Maria’s voice, clipped and hard, almost sounding irate.

Quasi nervously complied, anxious for her answer. The suspense was killing him, and he barely managed to stop himself from bolting from his stool and pacing.

“You’ve made the depths of your love for Madellaine abundantly clear to me. It’s clear your love has no bounds.” She stared across the way a little bit at the man beseeching her for her young sister’s hand in marriage. “I can say without any hesitation on my part, there’s now no one else in Paris with whom I’d let my sister join her life with. There is no other that I consider worthy of Madellaine’s affection and love, save for you.”

Maria smiled at the look of disbelief in the church’s bell ringer’s eyes. “Yes, monsieur,” she answered at last. “You’ve my consent to wed my sister. Marry her, sir, and do be quick about it, boy, before I _change_ my _mind_.” Her tone was relaxed and sure, her blue eyes suddenly twinkling, proud and warm of the happy news.

Maria was quick to ascertain that she had not only just given this man everything he could have ever wanted, but she had given Madellaine her heart’s desire as well, although she did not yet know it, but the girl would, yes.

Quasi erupted into a smile with such brightness, that Maria was taken aback, sure no other held such a smile so bright that could rival all the stars in the sky.

He inclined his head in deference towards Maria and then nearly jumped to his feet with joy at her answer.

Maria stood slowly with him, Quasi reaching for her hand, clasping the delicate appendage in his strong, gloved hand. “Thank, mademoiselle. Thank you,” he murmured, his voice practically breaking. He radiated with happiness that Maria thought almost infectious. “Y—you’ve given me the greatest honor in this world.”

“I know,” Maria accepted, just a twinge of sister warning in her voice, though it wasn’t enough to stop the small smile from snaking its way to the edges of her lips.

He did not know how long the two of them spent in the tower as Maria began to express an interest in wanting to see for herself the humble abode that was her sister’s new home. Quasi happily gave her a tour and was in the midst of showing Maria the bells when Madellaine returned, no one more shocked than she was to see the pair of them conversing amongst one another in polite, cordial tones, and the smile that cracked her face as Quasi informed her that her sister had given her blessing was well worth the difficult conversation the two had had.

Her sister wound up staying for supper that night, and it was the first time in a long time that he finally felt at peace, with so much to look forward to. A beautiful bride, who loved him as much as he loved her, and their tower besides, not wanting to leave the sanctity of the church and the only home that Quasi had ever known. A soon-to-be sister-in-law who approved of him, Phoebus, and Esmeralda by his side as his dear friends.

A _family_.

And he decided that he couldn’t ask for any more than that. It was more than enough for him. As long as Madellaine remained by his side, Quasi knew without a shadow of doubt in the recesses of his mind, that he would never feel the icy cold touch of the burden of loneliness ever again.

Because, with her, he felt complete. And it was more than enough for him.


	45. All that Remains

**Chapter Forty-Five: All that Remains**

**MADELLAINE** walked slowly and surely through the graveyard, trying, and feeling like she was failing to ignore the chill in her bones that had nothing to do with the bitter Parisian breeze wafting through the air. In truth, she wasn’t sure why she had come, though she hoped that Quasi would have come with her, though the man possessed a stubborn streak and staunchly refused. She let out a tiny sigh of disappointment and carded her fingers through her thick tuft of short blonde hair, thinking one of the nuns or maybe Esmeralda would cut it for her prior to her wedding to Quasi in another few weeks.

In a fortnight, she would be married, free to go about her journey through life unimpeded, with a man she wholly cherished. The very idea made her break out in a giddy smile, though her smile quickly faltered as another chill crept up and down its spine as she _swore_ she sensed someone _following_ her as she walked slowly and surely through the graveyard, hoping to find it after all this time of searching, praying that tonight would be it.

Though the ominous sound of something scraping against the ground behind her raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Madellaine slid her slender fingers underneath the strap of her satchel, fully prepared to use it as a means to defend herself and pelt whomever it was with it in the event someone followed her, as she paused to peek cautiously over her shoulder.

The sun had dropped behind the horizon about fifteen minutes ago, and it had been a long walk to get here, to the same graveyard where the old Court of Miracles was. She scanned the pathway in front of her.

A few female silhouettes haunted the corner, laughing and talking too loudly, somewhere, a dog barked, though nothing that felt out of the ordinary.

Madellaine forced herself to breathe again and kept on walking, pushing through the gates of Saints-Innocent, trying to ignore the cold feeling of dread that caused a coil in her stomach to churn and lurch, not sure at all where this feeling was coming from, then.

Dirt sifted underneath her brown leather boots as she strolled through the massive rows of tombs, some inscribed, the ones who were wealthy enough to afford such a luxury, most, however, the only marking at the site of their tomb was flowers brought by loved ones.

And tonight, Madellaine thought, was no different. She let out a tiny sigh as she glanced down at the pristine white lily cradled tenderly in the palm of her hand that she fully intended to place by Frollo’s grave, assuming she could find it. Though Esmeralda had told her in confidence that she had an idea of where the fanatical judge had been buried and told her where.

She thought she finally spotted it. A great stone mausoleum atop a small hill at the edge of the graveyard. Strangely and dangerously close to the Court of Miracle's entrance. The horrible irony of that was almost laughable to the young blonde, though laughing was admittedly the last thing Madellaine felt like doing.

The façade as she gingerly approached it was decorated with columns. No inscription bore his name. And yet, there was almost a regal, distinguished air about it. She was sure that Esmeralda was right, that this had to be the one. Though she froze in her tracks as she caught sight of a silhouetted cloaked figure on his knees, the hood of the garment drawn up over his head to conceal his features from Madellaine’s line of sight.

She felt herself recoil, not sure she trusted herself to approach such an individual, not at all liking the creeping sickening feeling that started in her chest and crept its way up into her throat in the form of acidic bile. She was starting to wish she’d made Quasi come.

At least then, she would be safe. She should have…she should have thought to come here earlier _before_ the sun set. Awful things happened to women caught out alone on the streets after dark, and not everyone in Paris was sure to react favorably to her, once they learned to whom she was engaged to soon.

She was about to turn on the heels of her boots to go, not wanting to disturb the figure, thinking she could come back another time, when the faint sound of a muffled, half-choked, watery sob reached her eardrums, causing her ears to perk up at the faint noise.

Was he…was he _crying_? Slowly shifting at the waist, Madellaine turned back around, her thin eyebrows raised in alarm as she strained her eyes, trying to get a better look in the fading light of the evening.

Yes, whoever the poor man was, he was definitely crying, she was sure of it.

She wanted to comfort the poor fellow but neither did she want to risk startling him. Either way, Madellaine knew she could not linger forever here behind him in this manner. Awkwardly taking a cautious step forward, she cleared her throat to announce her presence. When that inspired no response, she knew she was going to have to reach out and physically touch him, as much as she did not want to. There was no telling how he’d react at all.

“E—excuse me,” she mumbled politely as she gingerly outstretched her arm and placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “F—forgive me, I—I don’t mean to interrupt, but are you all right, monsieur? I—I heard you _crying_ , sir…”

“ _No_ ,” the figure, whose voice she immediately knew to belong to a man, judging by the deep baritone of his voice, spat out, his voice trembling, and though she couldn’t see it, her overactive imagination could almost see the black, putrid bile escaping from his lips.

Madellaine paused, contemplating her words as she saw his hand wave towards the great mausoleum.

“Did you _know_ him, monsieur?” she asked cautiously, her tone sounding guarded as she dared to take another step closer and kneeling into a crouch by the unmarked tomb, gingerly placing the delicate lily in front of the marker and patting the ground, cursing herself inwardly for stepping over her boundaries, having just met the man who was essentially a _stranger_.

The young blonde woman’s tones sent a shiver down the man’s spine as he cautiously looked at the delicate flower of a French-Rose that knelt beside him.

She really _was_ quite pretty, the man had to admit. “I—I learned that the only family I had left in this world _died_ , milady, in the cruelest way possible.”

Madellaine blinked, the man’s words not at all registering as he gestured yet again to the great stone mausoleum and rose to his feet, brushing the palms of his hands on the material of his thick woolen cloak.

“You’re a…a _Frollo_ ,” she breathed in disbelief, her eyes widening in shock. “Are you not, monsieur?”

“My name is of no consequence anymore,” the man spat in a cold listless voice that yet again, made the young blonde shiver with fear as she gritted her teeth.

“Were the two of you close?” she asked, keeping her gaze fixated on the single white lily she had placed at his grave, hoping that even in death, wherever Claude was, that the man found some semblance of peace, however minuscule, even if Quasi believed the man was a monster and did not deserve it, _she_ did.

“Not especially,” he growled. “Though he was still my… _family_ , mademoiselle. They say his adopted ward is responsible. Is there any truth to his rumors?”

Madellaine furrowed her brow and pursed her lips at the cloaked figure who towered well over her by a good head or two, at least. She wished he would lower his hood and reveal himself, but he did not.

“No,” she muttered in a soft tone. “Claude’s death was…an _accident_. Quasimodo, his…son, was not to blame for what happened. Most here in the city say the man deserved it. He was a heretic. A lot of people haven’t yet recovered from the… from the fires, sir. Like it or not, your...family member, was a man who lost his mind.”

His profile was still turned to the side, his hood still raised, rendering it almost impossible for her to make out any details of his face, and, sensing the man, who sounded like he was in his early to mid-forties, needed time alone, she turned on her heels to go, though not before she paused and peeked back over her shoulder, casting one last glance at the lily at his grave.

“I hope that some small measure of peace and comfort have come to you, Claude, wherever you find yourself,” she whispered in a hushed voice and turned away before the man could say another word. Madellaine didn’t look back at all, vesting herself to remain composed and in one piece as she turned her back on the cloaked figure and walked away from the graveyard, aware of the man’s eyes on her.

If poor Quasi thought Madellaine could never detect the secret wanting’s of other men here in Paris to her every move, her beloved was wrong in that regard. The stranger’s cold, dark eyes were too palpable for her to notice. It was just seconds that passed when her thoughts drifted on her fiancé, and it was when visions of his mostly handsome face flitted through the front of her mind that Quasi himself chose to appear, waiting for her near the entrance to the old graveyard.

Quasimodo paused, his face looking like he was preoccupied in a daze, thinking about something, lost in hesitance whether he should walk past her then or run.

Her heart heaved and gave a painful lurch at the way Quasi was looking at her, his gaze suspiciously narrowing as he caught a glimpse of the cloaked man still shrouded under the shadows of night, watching her.

His red hair was unruly and wild, the soles of his brown leather boots muddied, dirtying the cobblestone path he stood on, his lips pursed into a thin, rigid line.

Madellaine swallowed, trying to brave his scalding, slightly jealous stare. “Who was that? Did he hurt you, love?” he questioned, the edges of his voice hardened.

“No.” Madellaine heard Quasi sniff as he scratched at the stubble near his jawline, leaving a smudge of blood on his cheek, making her stomach coil. Was he…was he injured? Was he sick? But there was another sight that caught her eye as Notre Dame’s bell ringer moved his other hand from behind him and handed over a mussed posy of spring roses and wildflowers, clamped together in his gloved fist.

She stared at the unruly means the stems had been cut with his carving knife. Half the petals were crushed ungraciously in his strong grip, and his hands were bleeding, though its scent was so strong and distinct, it took Madellaine back to times spent when she was a little girl in the meadows of Saint Paul de Vence.

Her lips parted slightly agape in shock and disbelief. No man had ever given her flowers before.

Even messy as it was, a mess of blossom and weed leaves and roots as Quasi tried to pluck them off awkwardly, leaving them on the ground near his feet.

Again, he handed them towards her, going almost as far as practically shoving them against her chest, though Madellaine at the moment was too dumbstruck to even lift a finger and take them from her betrothed.

Quasi noticed her staring at the blood splatters that speckled along his knuckles, annoying him, though she couldn’t be sure if her gaping staring was bothering him, or more so the fact that a suspicious-looking man had more or less cornered his bride and was talking to her. He hoped he hadn’t lost her heart. “The thorns.”

“Oh.” Madellaine almost smiled at the cringeworthy way he had to explain away the mess.

Quasimodo heaved in frustration, pulling the flowers back with an irate little grumble under his breath. “This—this was a _mistake_. I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, no, no, darling, don’t say that! I—I’ll have them!” Madellaine quickly protested, jutting out her fingers to take from his outstretched hands the bouquet.

Quasi’s blue eyes widened, softening a little bit, and looked away for a moment as he released it at last.

A faint blush stung along her cheeks as her fingers trembled as she cradled the flowers close to her heart.

“Thank you, Quasi,” she whispered in a faint, hushed voice. “They’re beautiful. Just like you, love.”

Quasi wet his lips and awkwardly cleared his throat, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, still once in a while casting a suspicious glance back towards the cloaked figure, who remained standing unstirred and still as a lifeless marble statue.

Madellaine caught a glimpse of her love, the uneasiness making the blue sapphires of his eyes sparkle.

Even with his unshaven face and the blood smeared on his cheek, she thought Notre Dame’s bell ringer handsome, though he was still a man hardened by the grim shadow of his dark past and recovering fully.

She watched as he stepped backward, taking her hand in his, wordless, not needing to say another word, quickly striding, causing the taps of his boots along the cobblestone streets to reverberate throughout the otherwise silent street as the pair walked back to the church. _My home_ , she thought affectionately, stealing a little glance at her soon-to-be-husband out of the corner of her eye. Madellaine felt herself smile as she looked.

As the pair of them walked back to the cathedral, saying nothing, she found even then it felt natural to her. She wanted nothing else out of her life, for she already had it, and what she had, was standing right beside her as the pair walked, almost in sync with each other, his fingers curled around her arm in a vice grip.

The moment he paused, and he shifted at the waist, shooting her a gentle smile, cradling her head in his hands, and lowering his face until their lips met, she knew. She knew the truth, for how could she not?

As his thumb caressed her cheek as he slanted her head slightly to the side, deepening their kiss, crushing the flowers he’d brought for her against Madellaine’s chest as his arm wound tightly around her waist, pulling her closer, unable to stand the gap of space between them for too long, she knew the truth.

That she’d only wanted him. _Just_ him. And now that she had him, she would never let this man go if she could help it…

She was _home_.

* * *

The same figure that Madellaine had encountered wound his calloused fingers further around his flagon of wine. The cloaked figure drained the last of its contents as he watched the candlelight flicker in one of the illustrious-looking bell towers of old Notre Dame.

God Himself only knew how long he had stood in front of the cathedral, having followed the accursed wretch and the beautiful blonde woman home. _Spying_.

Meditating calmly like death. He did not know how to make of it. Claude, after all this time, was _dead_. But then he saw the way the young blonde mademoiselle held his own _son_ , whispered a threat to his ambition, unhinging the accursed wretch of a man, from where he stood kissing her in the midst of the street.

He never thought Claude’s ward capable of being subdued, especially in the arms of a beautiful woman. A crow and a dove. Oil and water. A potent mix, he thought bitterly, as before he could lose his resolve, he pulled the hood of his cloak tighter around himself and strolled through the front doors of the large church.

It had taken him the better part of a year to recover from his sickness, though by the time Jehan's mind had recovered enough to think to return home to Paris, it was of the belief that everyone in his past life, Claude included, believed him to have died of the fever, though they could not have been more wrong.

He did not stop until he reached the boy’s rumored sleeping nook. The second his calloused fingers swiped against the curtain, he entered a different world. There his own son lay; Madellaine de Barreau, if that were indeed the young woman’s name, if he’d learned of her enough by this point within the taverns, perched silently on the pillows piled high on the side of a makeshift mattress, her face pale but at peace, eyes sweetly closed, lips limned in pink. She stirred softly in a lavender-colored nightdress, her blonde hair a perfect halo around her head as she slept blissfully unaware of the new arrival’s presence.

And the man had seen the most peculiar image in the world, something he’d never set foot on in his long and weary years of traveling with Florika’s people; and something he knew he’d never see again in a thousand lifetimes. In the arms of the girl lay a head of fire. The boy, _his_ boy, the one whom it was rumored Claude had christened Quasimodo after Florika’s death. The man gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, ridding himself of the image of his wife.

His son was practically a bear cub curled on her lap. His face was basked in the warmth of the blonde’s soft stomach, his strong arms enclosed around her slender waist, his breathing hushed, his shoulders calmly rising and falling. He clung to the girl like a boy to a mother, selfishly fencing her in his strong, tight grasp.

He absorbed her radiance and heat solely for himself as her slender fingers waved between his mats of ginger hair. Together they looked…well…too… _wrong_.

Entangled in the bedsheets in the most eccentric splendor one could possibly imagine. Their bodies touched, their feet bare, both individuals unbelievably tranquil like the sea after a violent tempest, he knew it.

It looked to him as though their very souls were making love, the pleasure ringing out on their breathing and sleep became their precious sanctuary from the peering eyes of the world.

Together they were betrothed, engaged to be married, and even now they looked begrudgingly perfect and well suited for one another that it made the stranger in the graveyard want to give everything to be in that state, to hoard the girl’s sunshine and radiant warmth for himself, to return his son’s favor and take away that which he had stolen away from him, then.

The figure suppressed a sharp breath of cold air that pained his lungs when Madellaine’s hand slowly stroked across the man’s tangles of red hair, and it was before she could open her eyes at the perception of another man staring at her intimacy with her fiancé in her arms, that Jehan Frollo lowered the hood of his cloak and crept out of the bell tower silent as the night that engulfed the realm, a plan already forming in his mind as his frazzled mind was teeming with possibilities.

He _knew_ what it was that he needed to do.

* * *

**Annnd that's a wrap for Book 1! I hope you enjoyed it so far. Look for Book 2: What Makes a Monster, to be posted relatively soon! Book 2 picks up pretty much immediately where this one cuts off, and YES, we DO get to see their wedding. I loved the idea of Quasi giving Madellaine flowers, even if it's adorably awkward, so I threw that little moment of peace in there :) Talk about a cliffhanger at Jehan being alive all this time, which will be further explored in the next installment, but for now, I hope you've enjoyed it, my lovely readers!**


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